


Our House (in the Middle of Our Street)

by reddie-in-the-stars (miss_melilot)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Love, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, New Family, Slow Burn, Step-Brothers, Step-siblings, Violence, each chapter will be a jump in time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_melilot/pseuds/reddie-in-the-stars
Summary: When Richie Tozier's father and Eddie Kaspbrak's mother get married, Richie and Eddie suddenly find themselves as step-brothers. Richie has to move from L.A. to Derry, which he hates, but he's intrigued by his cute new sibling. Eddie thinks Richie is weird and too loud but also intriguing. As the years pass, Richie and Eddie must examine their growing feelings for one another.AU inspired by Jack Dylan Grazer's new show, "Me, Myself, and I."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be spanning the years from 1989-1994. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Rating will change as well.
> 
> I will be posting this on Tumblr—as well as my usual Reddie spam. Feel free to come say hi! [reddieinthestars.tumblr.com](http://reddieinthestars.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

**_July 1989_ **

“Jessie is a friend, yeah. I know he’s been a good friend of mine. But lately something’s changed that ain’t hard to define. Jessie’s got himself a girl, and I want to make her mine.”

Thirteen-year-old Richie Tozier lay sprawled out on his unmade bed, Walkman playing and headphones over his ear. He nodded along to Rick Springfield, occasionally belting the lyrics with that teenage shamelessness that we all lose at some point. His socked feet swayed to the beat, his eyes closed as he lost himself in the music. He didn’t notice his bedroom door opening.

Richie’s father, Wentworth Tozier, leaned into the room, noticing with a grimace the clothes lying all over the floor and the papers stacked on Richie’s desk. He had the same wiry frame and untamable hair as his son. “Richie, hey. Richie!”

Mr. Tozier’s shout rang over “Jessie’s Girl,” and Richie startled, hurriedly turning off the music. “Oh, hey, Dad.” He sat up as Mr. Tozier walked forward and sat down next to Richie.

“Son, I...” Mr. Tozier trailed off, hesitating. “I know these past few years haven’t been easy.”

Richie didn’t have to ask what his father meant. He knew his dad was referring to Richie’s mom.

“It’s been okay, Dad,” Richie said, not really wanting to talk about what had happened when his mom had decided alcohol and drugs were more appealing than her family and had split without a word. He still remembered his mom telling him to have a good day at school.

She had been gone when he’d gotten home.

“It’s not okay, Rich. You deserve to have a mother,” Mr. Tozier said, sighing deeply. He shook his head. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“A mother?” Richie said, a little alarmed.

Mr. Tozier laughed. “Well, not exactly. You remember the lady from Maine I’ve been seeing?"

“Yeah,” Richie said, eyebrows raised. “What about her?”

“Well, son, I asked her to marry me.”

Richie was pretty sure his eyes were about to pop out of his head. “And what did she say?”

****

“Eddie Bear! Dinner!”

Eddie Kaspbrak sighed as his mother’s voice rang from downstairs. “Coming, Ma!” he shouted as he set aside his paperback novel. He rose to his feet and stretched before making his way into the hall, down the stairs, and to the kitchen.

His mother, Sonia Kaspbrak, a heavyset woman with a mop of dark, curly hair, stood beside the stove, stirring a pot of what smelled like potato soup. “Set the table, would you, dear?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said and headed to the cupboard to grab a couple of bowls for both his mom and him. He’d been setting two places since he was five years old, when the cancer had taken Mr. Kaspbrak. He was thirteen now. Eddie didn’t remember much of his father besides the memory of a big warm hug wrapping him in safety as his mother looked on with happy eyes. It had been rare to see such an expression on Mrs. Kaspbrak’s face for a long time, though her mood had improved exponentially since she had met Mr. Tozier from California, who she had been dating long distance for nearly a year now.

As Eddie went to get two spoons for the soup, Mrs. Kaspbrak said, “Sweetie, I need to talk to you about something.”

Eddie set the spoons beside the bowls. “Is everything okay, Mom?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling. “Things are very much okay. The dentist that I’ve been seeing, he…well, he asked me to marry him.”

Eddie froze. His mouth opened and closed for a moment. He knew his mom and Mr. Tozier had been dating for a while now, but somehow, he never realized it was serious enough for this. For marriage. He forced his mouth to stop flopping like a fish and asked, “What did you say?”

Mrs. Kaspbrak held up her left hand, and he could see the ring glinting on her ring finger. “I said yes, sweetie.”

“I…I…that’s great, Mom,” Eddie said, not quite sure how to feel. Mr. Tozier seemed nice enough, so he decided it couldn’t be that bad of a match. Besides, his mom had been alone for eight years now; she could use some happiness in her life.

“He and his son Richard are going to be moving here in a few weeks.”

Eddie vaguely remembered hearing about Mr. Tozier’s son, but he had never met the other boy.

“Richard is your age, so I hope you two will be friends. He’s had a troubled life with his mother leaving like she did. You can be a good example to him, Eddie Bear,” Mrs. Kaspbrak said.

***

**_August 1989_ **

Richie played with the cord on his headphones as his father drove down what looked like the main street of Derry, Maine. He stared at the single movie theater he’d seen, at the random stores, at the shuffling people. He couldn’t believe how fucking tiny this town was in comparison to L.A.

“Dad, are we seriously living here?” he asked.

“It’s not that bad, Richie—”

“Not that bad? Not that bad is when you realize you’re a dollar short for popcorn but still have enough for the movie ticket. This is fucking awful!”

“Richard.”

Richie winced at the use of his full name, but now that his rant had started, he couldn’t seem to reel it back in. “Dad, there’s _one_ movie theater. One! There’s no malls, no bars—”

“You can’t go in bars.”

“That’s not the point! This place is fucking tiny!” Richie breathed in deep, knowing his dad would probably go off on him.

He didn’t expect the softness in his father’s voice.

“Richie, I know this isn’t easy. I know, trust me,” Mr. Tozier said. “I know Derry is really small, and you’re used to L.A. But I really love Sonia, and I really want to make this work. Can you try for me, please?”

Richie stared at his father. Mr. Tozier didn’t usually dwell on feelings much, preferring sarcasm over any other reaction. Richie knew it hadn’t been easy for his father to be a single parent, especially to a wild child like him.

He also knew his dad was lonely.

“Yeah, I can try, Dad,” Richie whispered.

Mr. Tozier took one hand off the wheel to squeeze one of Richie’s. “Thank you. You know, you and Sonia’s son are the same age. I’m sure he’ll have some ideas of fun things to do here in Derry.”

***

Eddie watched from the living room window seat as a Cadillac pulled up in the driveway. “Mom, they’re here!” he called before looking back at the car. He saw Mr. Tozier get out of the driver’s seat, but Eddie’s eyes were on the boy clambering out of the passenger side.

He was thin and gangly, dressed in jeans and a loose Hawaiian shirt. He had thick, tousled black hair and wore coke-bottle glasses, which Eddie could tell were thick even from his perch by the window.

“Eddie, come on,” Mrs. Kaspbrak said as she walked past him to the front door. “Let’s help them carry their things.”

Eddie uncurled himself from the window seat and followed his mother out the door.

“Wentworth, oh!” Mrs. Kaspbrak said, hurrying towards the man as he opened the trunk of the car.

“Sonia,” he said with a laugh, wrapping his arms around Mrs. Kaspbrak.

Eddie looked away with a grimace as they kissed. He did _not_ want to see his mother engaged in such activities. His eyes came to rest on the other boy instead, who gazed back with interest.

“Hey, I’m Richie,” the boy said, dark eyes glinting with humor. “I guess you’re the other kid stuck in this fucking hell, eh?”

***

Richie followed Eddie inside the house, toting his suitcase in one hand and carrying his Walkman in the other. He glanced around the house—much smaller than the L.A. house but cozy looking—before looking back at Eddie.

Eddie was slender and small, dark hair combed neatly. He wore a polo shirt and pair of running shorts that left little to the imagination.

Richie realized he was chattering about something and started listening.

“I guess we’re in the same grade,” Eddie was saying. “School doesn’t start until next month, so that gives you some time to settle in.”

“Whatever you say, Eds,” Richie said.

Eddie glanced at him over his shoulder. Richie could see a smattering of freckles dotting the other boy’s nose. They were cute. “My name is Eddie, not Eds.”

“Sure thing, Eds.”

Eddie frowned before huffing and looking away.

 _This is going to be fun_.

Richie followed Eddie up the stairs. The other boy pointed at two bedroom doors. “The one on the right is mine; the one on the left is yours.”

“So, we get to be neighbors, huh, Eds?”

“ _Would you stop fucking calling me that_?”

Richie blinked, looking over at Eddie. Eddie had his hands on his hips and a pouting sort of frown on his face. His warm brown eyes flashed with irritation. Richie found himself noticing how long the boy’s eyelashes were.

Richie grinned, set his suitcase down, and, never having had much sense of self-preservation, reached over to pinch Eddie’s cheek. “You’re just so cute, Eds.”

Eddie’s eyes widened for a split second before his frown deepened. He slapped Richie’s hand away. “Fuck off, Richie.”

“Aww, don’t get your panties in a twist, Eds. I already said I was sorry for sleeping with your mom, but she just couldn’t resist me.”

“Not as much as your sister couldn’t resist giving me that blowjob the other day.”

Richie gaped for a split second before bursting into laughter. This kid was _good_. “All right, then, little brother. Show me to my room.”

“You’re only two months older than me!”

***

Eddie flopped down on his bed with a groan. Richie Tozier was _exhausting_. Eddie was convinced that the other boy did not know how to stop talking and thus never did.

“Hey, Eds?”

Eddie groaned again, louder. “What the fuck do you want? And stop calling me that!” Eddie looked up from his prone position to see Richie resting against the doorframe, looking around and taking in Eddie’s room.

After a moment, Richie stepped inside and walked over to Eddie’s bedside table. What seemed like dozens of pill bottles stood there as well as an inhaler.

“Jeez, are these all birth control pills?”

“Yeah, I’m saving them for your sister,” Eddie snapped, watching as Richie lifted one of the bottles.

“Are you dying or something?” Richie asked.

Eddie sat up. “No, they’re for…uh, my mom has me take them. They’re supposed to help my illness.”

“Illness?” Richie repeated. “What illness?”

“I’m…not totally sure,” Eddie said slowly. “But I have really bad allergies and asthma, and these help me, so I have to be careful about taking them.”

As if responding to Eddie’s words, the watch on his wrist let out a beeping alarm. Eddie tapped the watch to stop the sound before grabbing one of the pill bottles. Richie stared as Eddie took out a brightly colored pill and set the bottle back on the table before dry swallowing the pill.

“You don’t need water?”

“Not anymore.”

“Huh,” Richie said as he set the bottle he’d been clutching down on the table.

Eddie looked up at Richie. The other boy was strange in comparison to the other people he knew here in Derry. Eddie supposed it was because Richie was from L.A.—that mystical far-away land of palm trees and sun, so different from Derry. Richie seemed to be permanently set to the loudest volume, voicing every little thought that flew into the other boy’s head.

But Richie was also intriguing.

As Richie started yammering about something, Eddie gazed at the freckles that covered the other boy’s face and arms. He felt a strange desire to reach out and touch them.

He blinked at the odd thought and looked away from Richie. His eyes landed on the calendar tacked above his desk and saw how soon school would be starting. He wondered what the other Losers would make of Richie. Then again, Richie probably wouldn’t want to be seen with them lest he be branded a Loser, too. He sighed inwardly at the sad state of his social life before tuning back in to what Richie was saying.

“—the fucking tiniest town I’ve ever seen! What the fuck do you people even do here, fuck sheep? I mean, I do your mom, which has to satisfy me, but—”

“ _Fuck off, Tozier!_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be spanning the years from 1989-1994. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Rating will change as well.
> 
> I will be posting this on Tumblr—as well as my usual Reddie spam. Feel free to come say hi! [reddieinthestars.tumblr.com](reddieinthestars.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

**_September 1989_ **

“Rise and shine, sweetie.”

Eddie felt the familiar weight of his mother sit beside him on his bed. His eyes opened as she stroked his bangs away from his forehead. Early morning sun filtered through the window, sending warm rays over his arms and face.

“Time for your first day,” his mother said.

He nodded as she smiled at him then got to her feet.

“Don’t forget your pills, dear,” she called over her shoulder as she headed downstairs.

Eddie rolled his eyes. He’d been taking his pills for so long that he didn’t know how he could ever forget. He could be in the middle of a catastrophe, and he’d still remember, with or without the small beep of his wrist watch. He sat up and reached for one of the pill bottles.

As he went to pop one of the pills in his mouth, he heard, “More pills, eh? Sure you’re not dying?”

Eddie startled, dropping the pill before looking up with a glare. Sure enough, there was Richie, already dressed in that hideous khaki pants and Hawaiian shirt combo of his. His dark hair lay in an unruly mess.

“Do you ever even brush your hair?” Eddie snapped, reaching for the pill that had landed in his lap.

“Of course, Eds! How else do you think I got this amazing style?” Richie tossed his head back, running his hands through his hair like some sort of shampoo model.

“Amazing, right,” Eddie muttered before dry swallowing the pill. “And stop calling me that.”

Richie grinned at him. “Hurry up and get ready, little bro. You have to show me around school today.”

Before Eddie could grumble that Richie was hardly older than him, Richie had already turned and ran out the door. Eddie listened to the other boy sprint down the stairs, each step pounding and echoing through the house—the same loudness that followed Richie wherever Richie went.

Eddie sighed and climbed out of bed. As he got dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, he wondered if he would share any of his classes with his friends. Or god forbid, with Richie. He shuddered at the thought, though he couldn’t deny that it would be nice to know at least one person in all of his classes, even if it had to be his stepbrother.

***

The cool wind of September mornings breezed through Richie’s hair, blowing it back from his face as he pedaled his bike beside Eddie on the way to Derry Middle. The air had that sharp smell of pine and water that he’d come to associate with Derry—so different from the smell of heat and garbage that was typical back in L.A.

_Back home._

Richie sighed to himself. He glanced over at Eddie, who seemed to have no trouble biking despite supposedly having horrible asthma. A black fanny pack was strapped around the other boy’s waist, which Richie had given Eddie absolute hell for already.

_“Is that a fucking fanny pack?”_

_“Yeah? I need to carry my pills and my inhaler.”_

_“A fanny pack. A fucking fanny pack.”_

_“We already established that, you fucking moron.”_

_“Eds, you are just so gosh darn cute!”_

_“Fuck off, Tozier!”_

Richie grinned. He’d been living with Eddie for about a month now, and he’d never met anyone who was so fun to rile up. Eddie just had the best irritated expressions, not to mention the most imaginative, elaborate comebacks. Eddie kept Richie on his toes, and he loved it.

Derry Middle was only about a ten-minute bike ride from their house. Richie saw more kids their age as they drew closer to the school. It loomed ahead—a two story brick building that looked like it had been built in the 1910. Considering this was Derry, it had probably been.

“Hey, Eddie!” a boy’s voice called. “Hey, Richie!”

Richie saw a group of four boys and one girl beside the bike racks, all of them waving.

The one who had called hello stood was a skinny boy with knobby knees and dark brown bangs falling over his forehead—Bill Denbrough. Richie had met both him and Stan Uris—the curly-haired boy standing next to Bill—when Eddie had brought Richie along to a movie a couple of weeks ago.

The others were new, though.

“Hey, guys,” Eddie said, smiling. Richie found himself staring at Eddie; most of the time, Eddie frowned at Richie, so seeing a grin was new. It was nice.

_And adorable._

Richie shook his head. He didn’t want these weird thoughts right now.

“Richie, these are my other friends. This is Ben Hanscom, he’s pretty new, too—”

A heavyset kid with dirty blonde hair and ruddy cheeks waved. Richie noticed the headphones around the boy’s neck. Maybe they’d get along.

“—and this is Mike Hanlon. He used to be home schooled, but his grandpa finally agreed to let him come to public school with us—”

Another boy smiled at Richie, teeth glinting and dark eyes warm. He was black, which seemed like a rarity here in Derry versus L.A.

“—and this is Beverly Marsh—”

The one girl cocked her head at him before nodding. She had deep red hair cut short in curls around her sweetly freckled face and a fierce intelligence in her eyes. Richie knew she was measuring him up, and he found himself hoping he added up in her eyes.

“—and you already know Bill and Stan from the other week.”

“Well, the pleasure’s mine,” Richie said. He gazed around the group of kids and found he instantly liked them. “So, let’s see, we’ve got Big Bill, Stan the Man, Haystack, Mikey Boy, and Molly Ringwald. And of course, my little bro, Eddie Spaghetti. Yeah, I think I got it.”

Eddie groaned loudly as the others laughed. “That is _not_ any better than Eds, you dipshit.”

Richie gazed at Eddie for a moment, watching the way the other boy’s eyes flashed with some irritation—but less than Richie expected. A faint flush rose over Eddie’s cheeks, and the freckles that dotted his nose stood out in stark relief. Richie felt that weird urge to touch them again.

“Oh, you prefer Eds,” Richie said, hoping no one noticed his pause. “Okay, then, Eds. I’ll call you that forever.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bill said with a grin as Eddie grumbled something under his breath.

Richie blinked at the new phrase, but he smiled. While Stan and Ben seemed warier, the others looked at him with approval in their eyes. Richie felt a strange warmth in his chest at that. Making friends had never been particularly easy for him, and though it was true that these were technically Eddie’s friends, they hadn’t given him the “fucking scram, kid” look that he was so used to back in L.A.

Maybe they could be his, too.

***

Richie followed Eddie through the hall, glancing around the new school. It seemed old and dank, blue lockers scratched up and ceilings low above them. Richie looked down at the piece of paper that showed his class schedule along with his locker and combination.

“I have locker 358,” Richie said.

“I’m at 365,” Eddie replied. “We’re pretty close. Come on, I’ll show you where they are.”

“Lead the way, good sir.”

They walked beside each other now. Richie noticed other students in the hall giving him curious looks. He supposed that in a small town like Derry, new kids were more noticeable. Plus, word had probably gotten around that Mrs. Kaspbrak, a long-time widow, had finally gotten married—and to a non-Derry man, no less.

“All right, here’s my locker. Yours is right there.” Eddie pointed only a couple of feet away from them.

Richie nodded and walked over to his locker. As he was putting in the combination, he heard a gravelly voice say, “Hey, Kaspbrak. How was your summer?”

The question did not sound friendly.

Richie turned around to see a group of four older boys—they looked at least fifteen—gathered around Eddie. Eddie licked his lips and said nothing, eyes darting for an escape.

“I asked you a fucking question, you fucking faggot,” the leader of the group said, a teen with a dirty blond mullet and cruel eyes. He grabbed Eddie’s shoulder and shoved Eddie against the lockers with a loud bang. “What, has your gay-ness made you mute _and_ an asthmatic freak?”

The other three chuckled—one skinny boy with icy bleached hair, one husky boy with a look that said he wasn’t quite all there, and one with oil-slicked dark hair and a predatory stance. Richie’s eyes lingered on the last one; there was something particularly off about him, like he murdered puppies in his spare time. The other two just seemed like toadies.

Richie looked back at Eddie. His heart dropped at the terrified expression on the other boy’s face.

“Hi, there!” Richie called, voice bright and chipper.

The teens looked over at him. “Stay out of this, Bucky Beaver,” the leader said, tone dark.

“Oh, I really can’t. You see—” Richie walked up beside Eddie, putting his hand on the shoulder that the bully wasn’t gripping. “—I’m Eddie’s new stepbrother. I’d really rather you didn’t bother him, so I’d appreciate it if you could kindly _fuck off_.”

“ _Richie, don’t!_ ” Eddie hissed.

Richie hated the fear in Eddie’s voice. He wanted to take it away. He never wanted Eddie to be afraid, especially not of dickwads like these.

The leader cocked his head.

“Henry, that’s the new kid,” one of the other teens muttered.

“Yup! Name’s Richie. It’s a pleasure, fuck face.”

Richie heard Eddie gasp beside him but ignored it.

“Well _Richie_ , it seems like you don’t know how things work around here,” Henry said. He grabbed a fistful of Eddie’s hair, giving it a harsh yank upward. Eddie shrieked, hands flying up to grab at the bully’s hands in an attempt not to be scalped. “Fact number one: little baby Kaspbrak here is a fucking faggot.”

Richie watched in horror as Henry jerked Eddie’s hair again.

“Fact number two: This faggot is so fucking gay, he’ll probably try to blow you if you let your guard down.” He let go of Eddie’s hair before punching Eddie in the stomach. Eddie doubled over, coughing. The bully ruffled Eddie’s hair, which Richie knew must hurt after the strands had been already been yanked to hell, before shoving Eddie to the floor.

Eddie scrambled backwards, still coughing.

“Fact number three,” Henry said, turning back to Richie. He stepped up in Richie’s face, only inches away. “If you ever get in my way again, _I’ll fucking kill you_.”

Before Richie’s mind could catch up, he watched his own fist suddenly fly forward into the fuckwad’s face. It connected with the bully’s nose with a loud crunch, and the other boy squawked, sounding more surprised and indignant than hurt.

“That’s what I think of your fucking facts,” Richie spat. “Stay away from my brother.”

Henry grinned, smiling wider and wider, and Richie suddenly had a very bad feeling. He could hear Eddie wheezing and hoped the toadies wouldn’t grab the other boy.

And then his face exploded in pace as Henry’s fist slammed into Richie’s cheek. His glasses flew off his face with the force as he fell backwards onto the tiled floor. He couldn’t see anything but blurs around him, but he sensed Henry stepping closer, standing over him. He knew he was probably going to die.

_What a great first day._

“Bowers!”

The death blow Richie was expecting never came.

“What, Teach?” Henry snarled.

“Get to class, all of you! We do not need fights in the hallway on the first day of school!”

“You’re fucking lucky, frog face,” Henry hissed. Richie presumed the teacher was still watching because he saw the blurry shapes of Henry and his goons slinking away.

When nothing else happened after a moment—not even the teacher checking on Eddie and him—Richie assumed it was safe. He startled when small hands came near his face, but he relaxed when he realized it was Eddie returning his glasses.

Eddie carefully settled the thick spectacles on Richie’s nose and ears, and suddenly the other boy took over Richie’s entire field of vision. He could see worry in Eddie’s tawny eyes, and Richie realized it was for him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Eddie murmured. “Henry will have it in for you now, for sure.”

Richie hissed as Eddie reached forward and brushed his fingers against the darkening bruise on Richie’s cheek. The pads of Eddie’s fingers were warm and soft, and Richie leaned into them ever so slightly. He realized he could smell the lavender soap that Eddie must have washed with.

“Who was that asshole?” Richie asked, sitting up. To Richie’s disappointment, Eddie’s hand fell away.

“That was Henry Bowers,” Eddie replied, still quiet. “The others were Belch Huggins, Victor Criss, and Patrick Hockstetter. You…you know…” Eddie went silent for a moment before his brows dipped in hurt, and he continued. “You probably shouldn’t hang out with me at school. Or with the others. We’re not exactly…liked around here. Henry always has it in for us the most. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Richie said nothing for a moment, just looking at Eddie. Richie hated seeing the sadness in Eddie’s eyes as Eddie talked about himself and his friends. As though he and his friends were dirt—scum.

Eddie’s hair had flown in every direction after the rough handling. Before he could think about what he was doing, Richie reached forward and gently brushed Eddie’s hair with his fingers, combing it back to a semblance of neatness. The strands were silky against Richie’s skin, and that lavender aroma was back, settling lightly on Richie’s tongue in a way that he didn’t want to let go of.

Eddie stared at Richie, blush rising on his cheeks, but he didn’t pull away.

_So damn cute._

“Eddie, I know we’re stepbrothers because our parents got married,” Richie said. “But you know, you’re also my friend—”

Eddie inhaled sharply as Richie’s fingers moved from Eddie’s hair to his face, lightly brushing against his warm cheek.

“—and friends stick together.” Richie smiled before wincing at the pain in his cheek. His hand fell back into his lap.

Eddie said nothing for a long moment, and Richie prayed he hadn’t overstepped Eddie’s boundaries by touching the other boy like that.

But then Eddie smiled—just a little smile that had Richie feeling like he could float at the lightness in his chest.

“Thanks, Richie,” Eddie whispered.

Eddie rose to his feet and helped Richie up as well.

“You need to go to the nurse,” Eddie said. “Before the swelling gets worse.”

“Never fear, Eddie Spaghetti! My body is stronger than most!”

Eddie snorted. “I highly doubt that. Come on, let’s at least get you an ice pack. I’m in your first class, so we can be late together.”

Richie walked beside Eddie back toward the front of the school. Most of the other students were gone now, already in class.

“You know, if you hang out with us, that makes you a Loser too,” Eddie said, giving Richie a side glance.

Richie looked over and smiled when Eddie dropped his gaze with that cute blush of his.

“I think I can handle it, Eds.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be spanning the years from 1989-1994. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Rating will change as well.
> 
> I will be posting this on Tumblr—as well as my usual Reddie spam. Feel free to come say hi! [reddieinthestars.tumblr.com](http://reddieinthestars.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

**_October 1990_ **

Richie sat on his bed, knees tucked under his chin. His backpack sat on the ground in front of him, and he stared at it without really seeing. He couldn't believe it had already been over a year since he and his dad had moved to Derry. Looking in the mirror showed the changes—slightly more defined cheekbones, another inch on the growth chart.

But thinking about it was strange.

"Richie, come on! We're going to be late for school!"

He smiled. There was Eddie, right on time. "Coming, Eds!" There was no response, but Richie was sure the other boy was grumbling about the nickname Richie refused to stop using.

Richie stood, grabbed his backpack, and headed downstairs. His dad and Mrs. Kaspbrak sat at the kitchen table in the room off to the left side of the stairs, sipping coffee. Richie saw them smile at him out of the corner of his eye, but he only had eyes for Eddie, who stood leaning against the door, impatiently tapping a foot.

Richie wasn't the only one who had changed over the last year. Eddie was still small and skinny, still had the same big brown eyes, full lips, and smattering of cinnamon freckles. But he'd let his always neatly combed hair grow until dark curls fell around his forehead and ears. Richie always wanted to reach out and touch the tousled strands, to see if they were as soft as he suspected.

But he wasn't sure how kindly Eddie would take to that.

"Are you finally ready?" Eddie said, tone sharp.

Richie didn't answer for a moment, staring at Eddie and the warm glow of his skin, the way the light played through the delicate curls of his hair and shone in his eyes.

Eddie was beautiful in a way that Richie couldn't ignore anymore but had to.

But it got harder every single day.

Richie realized Eddie was staring at him, waiting for an answer. He flushed. "Yes, yes," he said, unable to come up with anything else.

This was what Eddie did to him—struck him speechless like no one ever had before.

He remembered when it had happened the first time.

It had been Eddie's fourteenth birthday, and Richie and Eddie had met their friends at the Aladdin Theater to celebrate. They had all pitched in for a movie ticket and popcorn for Eddie as well as brought presents. Eddie had blushed and gotten abnormally quiet, which Richie recognized as shyness at the amount of love being thrown in Eddie's direction.

Richie thought it was adorable.

Eddie had wanted to see _Back to the Future Part II_ , which they had all readily agreed to. They ended up sitting in a back row of the theater, with Eddie between Richie and Bill. The other Losers—as Richie had so affectionately dubbed them—sat on the other side of Bill. They knew that Richie was liable to get them kicked out of the theater with his big mouth, so they always made him sit on the end just in case.

Richie had promised to behave this time, but there was no guarantee. But he didn't care, so long as he got to sit next to Eddie.

"You know who's getting the real present tonight, Eds?" Richie asked as they waited for the movie to start.

Eddie sighed. "Stop calling me that, Richie."

Richie ignored him. "Your mom. She just couldn't keep her hands off of me this morning—"

"Oh my god, Richie," Eddie said with a groan. "Can you ever shut up? Just for my birthday?"

"It's okay, Eds," Richie said. "I'd be jealous, too, if I'd never felt the touch of a woman."

"Fuck off," Eddie muttered, cheeks glowing red.

Richie smirked. He reached over and pinched Eddie's cheek. "I don't know how you're still a virgin, little brother. You're just so cute!"

Eddie pushed Richie's hand away. If looks could kill, Richie knew the glare being leveled his way would have destroyed him instantly.

"Fuck off," Eddie said again, louder this time. "And stop pretending you're not a virgin, too. I live in the same house as you, dipshit. I would know if you were fucking someone."

"You sure about that, Eds?" Richie purred.

Eddie's brow furrowed. "Y-yes—"

"Whatever you say, little bro."

"Fucking hell, I'm only a couple of months younger than you! We're the same age now!"

Richie laughed. "Still younger, though. I have to be careful around you, Eds. I don't want to get in trouble for flirting with jail bait."

"Wh-what?"

Richie suddenly realized what he'd said. His eyes widened. "Uh...I mean, you're just, uh..." Richie's mouth opened and closed, and for one of the only times in his life, he had no idea what to say.

Eddie stared at Richie, blushing harder than ever. Their forearms brushed across the armrest between them, but neither pulled away. Richie could feel his own face reddening with heat.

_Me and my big fucking mouth._

Bill cleared his throat next to Eddie, and Richie felt the blush worsen. Bill had heard every word. Everyone else probably had, too.

 _Fuck_.

"So, E-Eddie," Bill said. "Do you th-think this movie will be as good as the first?"

Richie couldn't have been more grateful for Bill than in that moment. He had grown close with all of the Losers—Bill, Stan, Ben, Mike, and Bev—over the last year, and he knew without a doubt that they were the best friends he'd ever had.

"I hope so, Bill," Eddie said, but for whatever reason, he didn't look away from Richie.

Richie felt like he was falling into those brown eyes. He remembered touching Eddie's face on the first day of school they'd had together, remembered how soft it had been. He could smell that same lavender aroma rising from Eddie's skin, just like that day.

They had never talked about why Richie had done that—or why Eddie hadn't pulled away.

After what seemed like ages, Eddie's eyes slipped away from Richie's, and he turned to talk to Bill.

Richie slumped in his seat a little, heart beating like he'd run a hundred-mile race.

No, they had never talked about that day. But Richie didn't need to talk to know what had been shooting through his heart even back then.

Richie liked Eddie as much more than a brother or a friend. The feeling had been building nonstop over this last year, new bricks of want laid with every passing day, with every passing minute. Richie didn't know if he loved Eddie, not yet, but he knew he probably could.

It was terrifying. Eddie was his _stepbrother_ , god damn it. But Richie couldn't stop the feelings any more than he could stop a train hurtling at him.

More than that, Richie didn't want to.

***

The October air bit at the exposed skin of Eddie's face and hands as he and Richie biked to Derry Middle. Both were in ninth grade now, and both still had lockers close to each other. Eddie smiled to himself as he remembered how Richie had punched Henry Bowers in the face on Richie's first day at the school. It had not made Richie's life easy, but it had been one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for Eddie in his life.

"You're quiet today," Eddie said.

"Got a lot on my mind, Eddie Spaghetti," Richie replied.

"Still with the stupid nicknames?"

"Always, babe."

Eddie flushed. A hot flash of anger suffused through his chest. This always happened. Whenever Richie called him some silly pet name like babe, Eddie turned bright red. It pissed him off that he couldn't control it; he didn't know why Richie made him blush at all. Richie was just being...well, Richie. Richie called everybody by weird names; every person in the Loser's Club had a nickname. Why should Eddie be different because he was Richie's stepbrother? _Especially_ because he was Richie's stepbrother?

_He shouldn't._

Eddie glanced over as Richie came closer, humming loudly in the way that Richie always did. That's just how Richie was—intense. Richie's black eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight, cleverness and life in their depths. His dark hair ruffled in the breeze, bangs brushing across his forehead with each push of the bike's pedals. His mouth was pressed in a thin line, but Eddie could still see how full his lips were. They looked soft. Eddie wondered if they were as Eddie's eyes skimmed down the other boy's cheeks and neck before resting on an exposed clavicle.

The wheel of Eddie's bike struck a rock, startling him from his thoughts, and he turned forward again, blushing harder than ever. Why had he been staring at his stepbrother like that?

 _Why are you_ always _staring at him like that?_

Eddie took a shuddering breath, a strange heat in his belly.

***

Richie and Eddie arrived at the school within ten minutes. The other Losers were waiting for them by the bike rack as usual, waving at the two as they pulled up.

"Hey ho, friends!" Richie shouted. "Top o' the mornin' to ya!"

Stan sighed. "Can you ever just act like a normal person, Richie?"

Richie hopped off his bike. "Why I don't know what you mean, Stanley. I just wished ye a good mornin'!"

Stan rolled his eyes, but Bill smiled. "Richie's fr-from L.A. He can't help himself," Bill said.

"Indeed, Big Bill, indeed," Richie said. "Got any cigs, Bev?"

The redhead raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe by lunchtime, Tozier."

"Good enough, my fair lady."

"You ought to be careful with smoking, Richie," Mike said with a frown. "You could get kicked out of school, you know?"

"Is that a bad thing?" Richie asked, laughing at the shocked look on Ben's face. Richie had thought Ben was listening to his beloved New Kids on the Block on his Walkman, but Richie guessed not. Ben didn't look at Richie long anyway; his eyes moved back to Bev, where they were typically found. Richie thought Ben's crush was both obvious and cute.

Ben was newer to Derry, just like Richie. In fact, Ben had only been in Derry about three months longer. It was nice to have someone who understood being an outsider. Richie didn't miss L.A. as much these days, but there were still times when he felt the brush of snow or smelled the sharp tang of pine and he wondered where exactly his father had dragged him.

Richie glanced over at Eddie, who was finishing up the chain on his bike. Eddie let go of the chain with a sigh before biting his lip and standing up straight.

Richie's gaze narrowed in on Eddie's white teeth tugging slightly at the other boy's lower lip, and Richie's mouth went dry.

"R-richie?"

_Bill. It's always Bill._

Richie tore his gaze away from Eddie and back to the others. He felt his face heat up when he realized they were all staring at him. Fuck, had he been that obvious? Most likely.

Stan cleared his throat. "We should get inside. Class starts soon."

"Y-yeah," Richie stammered.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

He sensed rather than saw Eddie walk up beside him, so close he could feel Eddie's body heat cutting through the wintry air. He sighed inwardly, knowing that he would have to stick beside Eddie to get to their lockers and then their classes. They still shared the same first period, just like last year.

There would be no escape from his strange feelings, not for a while yet.

***

Stan sat beside Bill in his first class, tapping his pencil softly against the desk as they waited for their teacher to arrive. He could see Bill sketching in a notebook, probably drawing Beverly. Not that Stan could blame Bill. She was beautiful. Stan didn't like Bev like that, but he could understand why someone would. He didn't know why it hurt a little to think of Bill with Bev, but he also didn't want to examine the odd feeling any further. Not now.

Then again, Stan was pretty sure he wasn't the only person in their friend group who had some... _strange_ feelings.

"Bill?" he murmured.

"Hmm?" Bill asked, not really paying attention.

"Have you noticed anything...odd between Richie and Eddie?"

Bill looked up at him, blue eyes sharp. He said nothing for a moment, but something silent seemed to pass between them, shifting through the air in a way that Stan had not only grown used to but appreciated. He and Bill were always able to talk, even without words.

"So you see it, too?" Bill asked after a moment.

"They've both been acting funny for a while," Stan said. "I thought it was just them getting used to being brothers, but I think it might be more than that."

Bill nodded. "I-I think you're right. You think they... _l-like_ each other?"

"I don't know," Stan mumbled. "But there's definitely something."

"I guess we-we'll see what they do," Bill said before turning away as the teacher walked in to start the day.

***

Mike and Ben sat beside each other under a tree during lunch, poring over history books for an upcoming project. Mike was grateful to have Ben in his class. None of the other Losers were as interested in history as he and Ben were, so working with Ben would make the project a little easier.

The others would be arriving soon, though. Bev and Richie were probably around back, smoking their cigarettes. Mike thought the habit was gross, but who was he to judge?

Eddie, Bill, and Stan were standing in the lunch line. Mike's grandfather always packed him a lunch for school, since money was tight. But Eddie usually brought Mike extra food from the lunch servers to spice things up, which Mike appreciated.

"Eddie's been acting a little weird," Ben suddenly said, catching Mike's attention.

"How do you mean?" Mike asked, though he knew exactly what Ben meant.

The smaller boy had been sharper than usual, an edge to his voice that Mike had never heard before. But it was only there when Richie was around. When Richie was present, Eddie's eyes never seemed to leave the other boy, a heated glint in his eye that Mike recognized from the looks Ben gave Beverly.

Mike had never met a boy who liked other boys—or at least, not that he knew of—but his intuition told him that was exactly what was happening here. From the looks he'd seen on the other's faces, they'd noticed as well.

"I mean how he's always... _staring_ at Richie?" Ben phrased it as a question, probably wondering if he had been seeing things.

"Yeah," Mike said with a sigh. "I've noticed."

"Glad I'm not the only one," Ben said. "But I feel like Richie and Eddie don't see what they're doing. Or maybe—"

"Or maybe they know but don't know how the other feels," Mike finished.

Ben nodded, his headphones bouncing around his neck. "Sometimes I want to say something."

"Like you want to say something to Bev?"

Mike grinned as Ben turned bright red, mouth opening and closing without words.

"I-I...no," Ben finally mustered, and Mike burst out laughing.

***

Beverly gazed up at the cloudy sky, taking a deep drag from her second cigarette before blowing the smoke in the air, watching as the wisps floated upward. Richie stood beside her, having already finished his and declining another. She looked at him. He stared at the ground, seemingly deep in thought.

"So, how are you and Eddie getting along?" she asked.

Richie blinked before his eyes lifted to hers. "Fine," he said. "Everything's fine."

Bev lifted a brow. "You sure about that?"

Richie frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, I don't know. You guys have been living together for over a year now, why would things be any different now?"

Richie stared at her before looking off in the other direction. Bev could see the tips of his ears through his hair—they were red. "Let's go," he said suddenly, pushing away from the building they leaned against and hurrying away toward the other side of the school, where the others would be waiting.

 _I was right_.

***

Richie was strangely relieved when the final bell of the day rang. His friends had been shooting him weird looks all day, and he wasn't quite sure why. He was more than ready to get home, pull on his headphones, and drown everything out in AC/DC.

He jumped out of his seat and headed toward his locker, which was down a floor. Eddie would be nearby, and they could head home.

And if he just didn't look at his stepbrother, everything would be normal.

Richie didn't notice the hands reaching for him out of the boy's bathroom until they had sunk into the top of his backpack. He startled as his body veered backward toward the open door. He started to struggle, but it made no difference as he was dragged inside the bathroom.

The door swung shut behind him, and then he was yanked around to see Henry Bowers grinning at him. The bathroom was deserted, and he knew no one would be coming to help him, not after the other students had seen it was Henry dragging Richie.

"Hiya, Trashmouth," Henry nearly purred. He shoved him backwards into Patrick Hockstetter, who grabbed Richie's flailing arms and pinned them at Richie's sides with no effort at all. Victor Criss and Belch Huggins stood to either side.

"Oh hi, Henry," Richie said, talking through the panic blaring in his mind. "You've missed me so much, haven't you? I don't know if a bathroom is the best place for our tryst, though. You couldn't think of somewhere more romantic?"

Henry's eyes narrowed. "That little Kaspbrak faggot really has rubbed off on you. What else has he rubbed off on?"

Richie's eyes narrowed. "You leave him out of this," he snarled. He bit back a whimper as Patrick's grip tightened, nails leaving indents in his arms.

"Oh, I will, for now," Henry said with a grin. "Today's all about you."

Richie didn't like the sound of that. He wondered if anyone would come if he screamed; he doubted it. He could only hope Eddie wouldn't come looking for him.

He was yanked violently out of his thoughts as a fist pummeled into his face. His head snapped back against Patrick, and he cried out in both surprise and pain.

But that was only the beginning. Richie was thrown into an ocean of agony as the fists kept raining down over his face, his chest, his stomach. His legs gave out with a low blow to the groin, and he couldn't help it any longer—he screamed. Waves of hurt swirled over him, so heavy he thought he would drown beneath their weight.

A blow knocked Richie's glasses off his face and sent them skittering off somewhere. Without his glasses, Henry looked like a strange shape that kept blurring in and out, sometimes in focus and other times swimming undefined before his eyes. Richie could feel himself crying, tears sliding down his bruised cheeks. He felt something wet brushing over his ear, and he realized in horror that Patrick was licking his ear.

Richie started struggling against Patrick's hold. "Get off of me!" he shrieked. "Get the fuck off of me! You're fucking _trash_ , all of you!"

He heard Victor and Belch laughing as Patrick only held him tighter. He could feel Patrick smiling against his ear.

"Trash, huh? Is that what we are, Tozier?" Henry asked, and Richie hated the grin he heard in Henry's voice. "What do you guys think?"

Richie didn't like the low chuckles he heard in return. Henry had stopped hitting him, but why?

The sound of something metal being dragged across the floor filled the room. Richie couldn't see what was happening, could only hear something he was sure he wouldn't like heading his way. He yelped as Patrick suddenly shoved him to the ground. His hands flew out to catch himself, but he was too late. His chest and then his face struck the tiled floor so hard that he felt stunned, unable to lift himself to his feet. Dizziness swirled through him in a tidal wave, so strong he thought he would puke. He struggled to speak but only coughed. A soft scream tore from his throat along with more hacking coughs as a harsh kick landed in his side, leaving yet another bruise among a litany of many.

Richie opened his eyes to see something lifted above his prone form. He realized it was a garbage can just as a mound of trash came crashing over him, covering him in all sorts of nastiness. His hands flew up to protect his face from the worst of it, the loud laughter of his tormenters ringing in his ears as the last of the garbage dumped on him. He flinched as the empty garbage can crashed down beside him, nearly hitting him in the head.

"Guess who's trash now, Trashmouth?" Henry growled. Richie's chest shook with sobs that he tried to keep quiet as Henry high fived Patrick. "Say hi to your girlfriend Kaspbrak for me. Try not to get AIDS when he blows you tonight. I guess it doesn't really matter, though. You're both disgusting trash."

Richie lay still as he listened to the bullies finally walk away, the bathroom door slamming behind them. He didn't, _couldn't_ move. Not yet.

His body felt like it was on fire, bruises blossoming all over his skin. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth, but his own bodily fluids were the least of his concern. After a moment, he forced himself into a sitting position, wincing at the movement. Garbage ranging from toilet paper to food to gum to other substances slid down his body; he was drenched. The stench was overwhelming; nausea rose in his stomach.

Richie still couldn't see, his glasses lost somewhere in the room. He gingerly got to his hands and knees and started feeling around, hoping his hand would eventually smack into his frames.

He didn't realize he was still crying, tears dripping on the tile as he searched.

***

Eddie stood by his locker, wondering where the hell Richie was now. Class had been over for twenty minutes, and there had been no sign of the other boy. Eddie thought maybe Richie had been held late in class—it wasn't the first time—but worry began to rise within him with each passing moment.

He chewed his lip, watching other lingering students wandering by, some giving him curious looks. After a few minutes, he looked at his watch again: 3:25. Nearly half an hour past the last bell, and still no sign of Richie.

"Fuck," Eddie whispered as he stepped away from his locker and headed down the hall. He glanced in every classroom along the way, though he didn't know why Richie would be in any of them. No matter; none of them held the boy he was looking for.

He reached the stairs to the second story and climbed them. Richie's last class was up here, so it was likely Richie was as well. No one seemed to be on this floor, which was odd to say the least. Unease washed through him, pulling his lips into a frown.

Eddie had just stepped inside another classroom when he heard a door swing open. He turned around and glanced around the corner. His stomach dropped to his knees when he saw Henry, Patrick, Victor, and Belch exiting the boy's bathroom, their cruel laughter echoing through the hallway. He hurriedly ducked down behind a desk where the older teens couldn't see him.

"Too bad Kaspbrak wasn't with him," Patrick was saying. "Could have been a good show."

"You already got one," Henry said as they walked by Eddie's hiding place. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when they didn't slow, clearly not having seen him. "Licking Tozier's ear? Really?"

Eddie's eyes widened.

"Got a nice reaction, though," Patrick said, laughing in that terrifying way of his.

"Whatever, man."

Eddie waited until the four other boys had gone down the stairs and he could go no longer hear them before bolting out of the classroom toward the bathroom door the boys had come out of. Fear pumped through his veins with dizzying ferocity as he slammed the bathroom door open.

Richie was kneeling on the floor, feeling around for something. He startled, hands flying up in a semblance of defense as Eddie rushed into the room. Eddie could see tear tracks on the other boy's face and realized his glasses were missing.

But that was the least of Richie's problems. The boy was absolutely soaked in garbage. Everything you can imagine in a teenager's garbage can hung on Richie's skinny, trembling frame. Eddie could see a used condom stuck to Richie's shirt, and Eddie struggled not to gag.

Eddie's breath whistled in his throat as his breathing picked up. The smells emanating from Richie were noxious. But what was worse was the fear and pain in Richie's black eyes, so wide and afraid. Eddie hurriedly pulled his inhaler out of his fanny pack and took a puff, not wanting to deal with an asthma attack when Richie was hurting like this.

After a couple of inhales, Eddie approached the other boy. "Richie, it's me."

"Eddie?"

Eddie's heart hurt at the frightened tone of Richie's voice. He saw Richie's glasses lying on the floor in front of him, having flown forward with Henry's punches. He grabbed them and knelt in front of Richie, gently placing the frames on Richie's face. One lens was cracked, but at least Richie wasn't squinting in terror anymore.

"Bowers....they pulled me in here," Richie said, blinking rapidly.

"I saw them coming out of here," Eddie said. He looked at the bruises already discoloring Richie's face and the blood dripping from the other boy's nose and mouth. "You look awful... Come on, we need to go home."

Richie bit his lip. "I don't know if I can ride my bike, Eds."

"You can ride on mine," Eddie said, not caring about Richie's nickname for him for once. "We'll come back for yours tomorrow. Can you stand?"

Richie slowly got to his feet, hunched over and clutching at his stomach.

Hatred for Henry Bowers and his goons rose inside Eddie like crashing cymbals, growing louder with each second. How dare they do this to Richie? _How fucking dare they?_

"I hate them," Eddie whispered.

Richie chuckled then winced. "Me too, Eds. Me too."

*** 

Eddie tried not to hit every bump with his bike on the way home, listening to Richie's soft whines in his ear whenever he did. Eddie also tried not to pay attention to how it felt to have Richie's arms wrapped around him or the heat from Richie leaning against his back. He could feel the garbage covering Richie seeping into his shirt, even though they'd wiped the worst of it off in the school's bathroom. But even the overwhelming stink of garbage couldn't quite distract him from the feeling of Richie's body against his.

When they made it to the Tozier-Kaspbrak residence, Eddie was grateful to see that neither Mr. Tozier nor his mother were home. This was bad enough without dealing with them.

He got his bike as close to the door as possible and helped Richie off of it. Richie followed Eddie into the house and up the stairs into the bathroom they shared without saying a word. The uncharacteristic silence was worrisome for Eddie, who strangely missed Richie saying everything that crossed the other boy's mind. At least Richie's usual rambling meant things were normal, not whatever fucked up thing this was.

"You need to get cleaned up," Eddie murmured. "Do you..." He trailed off, hating himself as his face turned red. "Do you need help taking a shower?" he asked.

Richie looked at him, face unreadable. "No," he said after a moment.

"Okay," Eddie said, horribly relieved. "I...I'm going to sit outside while you take a shower. I'll bring you some clothes. Just yell if you need anything."

"Sounds good, Eds." Richie smiled at him.

Eddie smiled back. Richie using a nickname was good; it meant that maybe Richie was starting to feel a little better.

He left the room when Richie started peeling out of his garbage-covered clothes. Eddie walked to Richie's room, which was in chaos as usual. Clothes and papers littered the floor. Eddie wasn't sure why his mother hadn't killed Richie yet, but he imagined it was coming. He heard the shower turn on as he pulled a shirt and pair of sweatpants off the floor that didn't look dirty; he blushed as he grabbed a pair of boxers from Richie's underwear drawer.

"Stop being stupid," he muttered, chastising himself.

He walked back in the hallway and opened the bathroom door just enough to set the clean clothes on the counter. He closed the door and sat down outside it, waiting.

The water seemed to run for forever, but Eddie understood. He couldn't imagine feeling clean again after having a can full of garbage dumped on him.

When the water finally stopped, he called, "Are you alive?"

"Only thanks to you, Eddie Spaghetti!"

Eddie rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Hurry up, dipshit. And stop calling me that!"

He heard Richie laugh, and he found himself smiling.

After a few minutes, Richie opened the door, dressed in the clothes Eddie had gotten for him. Eddie stood. "Sit down. I need to look at your face."

"Aw, you can always look at my face, little brother."

"Shut the fuck up, and go sit down."

Richie walked over to the toilet and sat down much more gingerly than normal.

"Is your stomach okay?" Eddie asked softly, following the other boy into the bathroom.

"Just bruised is all," Richie said. "I'm covered with them."

Richie was right. Purple marks trailed down his arms and up his neck onto his face. Nearly all of the bare skin Eddie could see had marks of inflammation.

Eddie opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a first aid kit, which he placed on the counter and opened, revealing antibacterial ointment and bandages. He pulled out a couple of pain pills and handed them to Richie along with a paper cup of water filled from the sink. Richie took them without complaint.

Eddie pulled out the ointment and turned back to Richie. He froze for a moment as he realized Richie was staring at him before shaking off the feeling. He stepped closer, examining the cuts that littered Richie's face. Before he could think about it, he leaned forward, their faces only a few inches apart as he catalogued the damage.

His eyes lifted, and his gaze met Richie's. Suddenly he realized how close they were, and he sprang back, nearly knocking himself over with how fast he straightened.

"Whoa!" Richie said. "I'm not gonna bit you, Eds. Calm down."

"Just shut up, Richie," Eddie muttered. He could feel how red his face was.

But strangely, Richie's face was just as red.

_Stop being stupid._

Eddie shook away his discomfort and stepped forward again, opening the ointment that he was still clutching. He forced himself not to think as he stepped up between Richie's legs, taking a swipe of the ointment before beginning to gently dab it on Richie's cuts. The other boy's eyes were closed, which helped Eddie not to focus too much on exactly where he was standing.

_And why does that matter? He's your stepbrother!_

Eddie frowned, spreading the cream over Richie's split lip.

_That's exactly the problem, genius._

He couldn't help but notice how soft Richie's lips were against his fingertips. He pulled away quickly, watching as Richie's eyes opened. Their gazes met, and for a moment, both froze, just staring at each other—Richie sitting on the toilet and Eddie standing between his legs, close enough for Richie to grab if Richie cared to do so.

Eddie's breathing all but stopped before he finally tore his gaze away, grabbing a few bandages and tearing them open.

He didn't move out from between Richie's legs, though.

When he had the bandages ready, Eddie turned back and placed them carefully over the worst of Richie's cuts. Most of the damage was bruising, so with the cuts covered, rest would take care of the worst of it.

Eddie went to step back, but suddenly Richie's hands were on his waist. He stopped immediately as Richie stared up at him, a foreign heat in the other boy's eyes. Eddie could feel the atmosphere of the room changing, dipping into something deeper than Eddie could understand. All he knew were Richie's black eyes gazing at him and the heat curling through the bathroom air.

He felt himself lean forward a bit, Richie's face inching closer.

"R-Richie?" he squeaked at last.

This seemed to snap Richie out of whatever spell had fallen over him, and he let go of Eddie as if burned.

"Sorry, Eds," Richie almost croaked. "I...I must have hit my head or something. I don't know what's wrong with me." His face was completely red.

Eddie knew he looked no different. "It's okay," he whispered before turning around and scurrying out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He gasped for air and had to take another puff of his inhaler

"What the fuck?" he whispered. " _What the fuck_?"

Eddie tossed himself down on his bed, not wanting to think about Richie or his beautiful eyes or his soft lips or how Eddie liked him as more than a brother or friend or anything at all. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie realizes some things. 
> 
> Unfortunately, so do other people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be spanning the years from 1989-1994. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Rating will change as well.
> 
> I will be posting this on Tumblr—as well as my usual Reddie spam. Feel free to come say hi! [reddieinthestars.tumblr.com](http://reddieinthestars.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

**_June_ ** **_1991_ **  

Eddie stood beside his friends, looking down from the edge of the quarry's cliff into the shimmering water of the lake below. They had all jumped before, felt the air whirring by them before crashing into those deep blue depths. Had all come up laughing and screaming and then giggling again as they played chicken and dunked each other.  

But this was Richie's first time here, first time looking down into those waters. Eddie didn't know how an entire year and a half had passed without his stepbrother jumping from the quarry ledge, but here they were.  

"Ever jumped from a cliff before?" Bill asked, glancing at Richie. 

"Sure! I jumped into the ocean once—pretty sweet," Richie said. "But this is prettier." 

Eddie could have sworn Richie's eyes turned to him for just a moment, but Richie looked away before Eddie could make sure. Eddie's stomach did that familiar flip flop, as it always did whenever Richie's wide brown eyes looked his direction.  

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Beverly asked. "Let's go already!"  

She stepped back from the cliff and started unbuttoning her dress. The boys followed suit, each of them stripping off shoes, socks, pants, and shirts until all of them stood in their underwear. Eddie could see most of the other boys ogling at Beverly as per usual, but he paid no mind.  

Eddie was just kicking off his shorts when he felt eyes on him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Richie staring at him, slack jawed. But as soon as Eddie's eyes met Richie's, Richie hurriedly turned away.  

Eddie flushed, the heat rising in his face and his neck, and he looked back down. His eyes traced his own pale, skinny legs and small feet, and he wondered what Richie could have possibly been looking at, transfixed as though a naked woman had been posing in Eddie's place.  

He folded his clothes and placed them in a neat pile on top of his shoes. Eddie glanced over his shoulder again.  

The others had lined up on the ledge's edge with Richie walking over to join them. Eddie's eyes traced Richie's back, bony shoulders, the millions of freckles adorning Richie's skin like stars had been pressed into the pores. His gaze slid down Richie's spine, and he felt his skin heat up again as his eyes traced the curve of Richie's backside before following the long lines of Richie's legs, which had shot up another couple of inches over the past months. Richie would tower over Eddie before long. 

"You coming, Eds?" 

Eddie startled, his eyes rising to meet Richie's, who gazed back at him with that strange look that Richie got sometimes. Eddie never knew what it meant, but it made him want to know what exactly Richie was thinking behind all those mom and dick jokes.  

He glared at Richie, but there wasn't much heat behind the expression. "Don’t call me that, Richard." 

Richie grinned, winking at Eddie before turning around. Eddie took a deep breath and walked up to stand beside Richie, not looking at any of the Losers, all of whom were gazing at him with curiosity.  

He knew he was acting strangely. Hell, he'd been acting strangely since Richie had catapulted in his life and had made him start feeling some...very odd things.  

A sudden burst of anger shot through his chest, and without waiting for the others, he leapt over the edge. Richie gave a shout that was quickly lost behind the air whistling in Eddie's ears before he crashed into the cold water below. He came up spluttering and saw the other losers jumping in after him. He looked at Richie's form free falling for a second before he closed his eyes and let himself sink under the water. 

The water around him muffled the screaming laughter of his friends, but best of all, it completely removed the sound of Richie's shouting. Eddie felt his feet touch the ground after sinking for a moment. He opened his eyes. The summer sun shone brightly in the sky above, suffusing the blue around him with a deep glow. The water stung his eyes, so he closed them again, enjoying the quiet.  

When his lungs began yearning for air, Eddie launched himself upward, breaking the surface with an impressive splash that startled Stan enough to send the poor boy toppling off of Bill's shoulders. Ben and Mike laughed so hard at Stan's irritated expression that they cried, which quickly had the others following suit. 

Eddie grinned. But then he felt that same phantom gaze as before, up on the cliff. 

He realized that Richie was floating a little behind Ben. 

Richie was staring at Eddie, mouth pressed in a firm line. When Eddie's eyes met his, Richie's eyebrows lowered.  

Eddie had never had anyone gaze at him so intently. His skin felt like it was on fire under the pressure of Richie's eyes, everyone else falling away until it was just he and Richie floating there, connected by a rope of....something. What was this heat rising in his belly? This dryness sapping his mouth until all he could taste nothing else but whatever this feeling was?  

He could feel himself shaking; a burning behind his eyes told him he wasn't far from tears.  

Richie was his fucking _stepbrother_.  

This was not normal.  

_This was not okay._  

Eddie forced himself to turn away from Richie and that gaze, and he turned almost straight into Beverly. He jumped, splashing a little, and Beverly held up her arms in apology for being so close. Something must have shown on Eddie's face because Beverly's smile fell into concern. 

"Eddie, are you okay?" she asked, voice soft and soothing.  

He swallowed and licked his lips, attempting to find his voice. "Yeah, I'm fine," he whispered after a moment.  

Beverly frowned. "You don't seem fine." She looked somewhere behind Eddie before her eyes returned to his. "Is it Richie?" she asked in a low voice.  

Eddie's heart nearly stopped. It was that fucking obvious?  

"N-no," he sputtered. "No, nothing to do with Richie. I'm fine. Everything's fine." 

"Eddie—" 

"Please let it go, Bev," he begged. "Please. I-I—" His chest tightened—an impending asthma attack. "I can't do this." 

Before Beverly could respond, Eddie took off for shore, ignoring the calls behind him asking where he was going. The sound of Richie's voice made Eddie swim faster, wanting to get away from these feelings pounding in his chest—wanting to get away from Richie completely.   

He finally reached the edge of the lake; when his feet hit dry dirt, he took off running, ignoring the sharp rocks beneath his feet and the faint shouts of his friends. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't care. He sped up the hill to where his clothes were and dove for his fanny pack, yanking out his inhaler and taking a few hits to calm his aching lungs. Eddie tugged his clothes on, not caring that he was wet, just wanting to get the fuck out of there.  

When he was dressed, he sped up the trail to where they had all dropped their bikes—except for Stan, of course, whose bike rested on its kickstand. He pulled his bike up, hopped on, and cycled away, ignoring the few tears that escaped his eyes and slid down his cheeks, ignoring everything and forcing himself to feel nothing at all.  

*** 

Richie watched Eddie fleeing the lake like Eddie had been possessed, and he hurriedly tried to follow. 

"Richie, wait!" Beverly yelled, but Richie ignored her. All he knew was something was wrong, and he had to help Eddie. 

He had to.  

Eddie had a massive head start on him, but Richie moved as quickly as he could, leaping out of the water and running after the smaller boy. But by the time Richie made it up the hill, Eddie was already careening away on bicycle. Eddie paid no attention to Richie's shouts. 

Richie gripped his head, not knowing whether to follow or stay. He knew what he _wanted_ to do, but he didn't know if Eddie wanted to see Richie at all right now. Not after that performance.   

Fuck, he was so _stupid_. He had let the lower half of his body take over in the lake and had let himself stare at Eddie. At the way the sun glistened in Eddie's soft curls. At the way the water reflected off Eddie's perfect, creamy skin and those sweet cinnamon freckles on his shoulders. At the soft lines of Eddie's chest and belly. At the gentle dip of Eddie's navel, which made an appearance when Eddie jumped out of the water and scared Stan. At Eddie throwing his head back and laughing, the soft column of Eddie's throat. 

And then at Eddie's warm brown eyes when he'd realized Richie was staring. Richie foolishly hadn't looked away, instead savoring the way Eddie's eyes had widened but _also_ _had stared back_. A delicious heat had curled in his belly as they gazed at one another, treading water without breaking eye contact. Richie didn't know exactly all of what these feelings entailed, but he was certain of one thing. 

He wanted more. 

But then Eddie had up and ran, and Richie didn't know what the fuck to do. He had crossed a line, staring like that, and he didn't know how to step back over it to where they had been this morning—fourteen-year-old stepbrothers who didn't worry about fuck all.   

"Fuck!" he suddenly shouted into the silence. " _Fuck_ _fuck_ _fuck_!"  

*** 

Eddie reached the Tozier-Kaspbrak residence in record time. He jumped off his bike and let it fall on the grass as he ran for the door, opening it and slamming it behind him as soon as he was through. Eddie fell back against the door, panting as he carded a hand through his still-wet hair.  

"Eddie Bear? Is that you?" 

Eddie whirled at the sound of his mother's voice, heart still racing.  

"It's me, mummy!" he called when his breathing slowed a bit. 

"Where's Richard?" 

"Uh, I wasn't feeling so great, so I came home early." 

"Are you all right, sweetie?" Mrs. Kaspbrak's voice took on a tone of concern. 

"I'm fine," Eddie choked out, not wanting her to get up. "I'm going to take a shower and go lie down." 

"Okay, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything. I'll come check on you in a bit." 

"Okay, Mom!" he called over his shoulder as he bolted up the stairs toward the bathroom.  

Eddie closed the door behind him and locked it. He stood still for a moment, catching his breath. The smell of the quarry was rising from his damp skin—that mossy, earthy fragrance—and he began to strip out of his clothes. Water dripped down his shoulders as he tossed his shirt in the hamper and then made quick work of his other clothing.  

He turned the shower on, but before he stepped into the water, he looked in the mirror at himself. Eddie stared at his naked reflection—his skinny arms and legs, small and undefined. His large eyes gazing back from a slightly freckled face.  

_What could Richie ever see in me?_  

Eddie bit his lip and stepped into the shower, turning the temperature to nearly scalding. He wanted to burn away the memory today. He didn't understand what had happened, why Richie had this effect on him. Shouldn't Eddie be paying attention to girls, not his stupid stepbrother? 

He let his mind wander to earlier that afternoon, when all the Losers had been stripping out of their clothes to swim. He'd seen the other boys looking at Beverly as she'd slipped out of her dress. Everyone had looked. 

Except for him. 

Eddie frowned. He thought of Beverly—her red curls, her sweet freckled face, her kind eyes, her perfect shape. He knew Beverly was pretty, but it was a fact he knew as much as he did knowing the sky was blue. But while that same fact held fascination for the other boys, Eddie found he didn't really care. Beverly was pretty, yes, but she didn't hold his attention. Didn't draw it in the first place.  

He thought of other girls he knew from school. Many of them were pretty as well, but again, it was a thing he _knew_ but didn't _feel_. He thought about how he never cared when Beverly changed in front of him but the other boys got flustered.  

Eddie thought about how Bill tugging off his shirt could make Eddie blush. Or how Stan moving in a certain way caught Eddie's eye.  

After a slight hesitation, he allowed his thoughts to turn to Richie. He considered Richie's boyish form, that flat chest and stomach. He thought about running his hands over Richie's shoulders, tracing those millions of freckles and making tiny constellations of them. He thought about how Richie always smelled like bubblegum and cigarettes; he swore he could taste it on his tongue. He thought about the sunlight glinting off of Richie's glasses, the easy way Richie always fell in beside him, how Richie always found some way to touch Eddie's arm or shoulder. 

Before he could stop himself, Eddie's mind wandered to the sight he had seen earlier today—Richie dressed only in a pair of undershorts, standing at the edge of the quarry with no fear. 

And before that, Richie had stared at Eddie, obliviously undressing. 

Eddie's skin flushed an even deeper red than it already was from the hot spray of the shower. Heat curled in his belly, lower body awakening as he thought about Richie's dark eyes gazing at him.  

And in that moment, Eddie knew. 

He knew why girls weren't interesting to him. And why Richie was. He shook his head, wanting to deny it, but the truth had slotted in place, clicking so deeply he could never rid himself of it.  

Eddie Kaspbrak was gay. 

He took a strangled breath as he slowly sank down to sit on the shower floor, his knees having lost their strength. He felt tears welling in his eyes and flowing down his cheeks as the memory of Richie grabbing his waist in this very bathroom several months ago came to him, as well as why he'd run away afterward.  

He drew his knees to his chest, breath hitching under the tidal wave of overwhelming feelings before he dissolved into strangled sobs. 

*** 

**_August 1991_ **  

Eddie sat beside his friends in the barrens, all of them talking and laughing—except for him. His mind had been a chaotic whirlwind ever since that day two months ago where he realized exactly what he was, and he found himself choking over words, unable to concentrate as he wondered if his friends had noticed, if they thought he was a freak— _a faggot_ _girlyboy_. 

He bit his lip. At least Richie wasn't here; Richie had stayed home to help Mr. Tozier with something or other. Eddie knew Richie didn't get to spend much one on one time with Mr. Tozier anymore, so Eddie was happy for Richie—even if part of that was undeniably selfish relief on his part. 

Eddie looked up, letting his eyes wander over the other Losers: Bill, blue eyes bright; Stan, grumbling about something but still happy; Ben, talking animatedly with Mike; Mike, replying just as excitedly; Beverly, watching Ben and Mike with a soft grin that lit up her eyes. They all seemed so normal, so carefree; they had no idea what kind of thoughts had been going through Eddie's mind, what kind of things he found himself dwelling on with red cheeks and a throbbing body. How the images he thought of had nothing to do with the women in the magazines typically found under the beds of teenage boys.  

He shivered under the weight of his secret. The summer breeze blew across his cheeks, ruffling his curly hair, and he took a deep breath of that familiar pine and stagnant water—the smell of home. He tasted it, drawing strength from the recognition.  

And suddenly he knew he couldn't remain silent forever. If he did, he would go mad. 

Eddie cleared his throat. "Uh...guys?" 

Bill and Stan looked at him. Ben and Mike kept talking for a few seconds until Beverly shushed them, drawing their attention toward Eddie. 

"I....I have something to t-tell you," Eddie stammered. "I...uh...I'm...." His eyes met Beverly's, and she smiled at him, nodding.  

_Go on_ , her eyes seemed to say. 

He took a deep breath. "Guys...I'm gay. I....I like boys." He felt heat rising in his cheeks, and he looked down at his feet, unable to look at his friends while their faces inevitably became disgusted, while they decided he was too much of a freak even for the Losers' Club. 

"Well, finally," Stan said. 

Eddie blinked, looking up at Stan, who grinned easily back at him. Eddie stared stupidly at Stan, unable to comprehend what he'd just heard. 

"We-we're glad you told us, Eddie," Bill murmured. "We kind of knew, but w-we didn't want to make you say anything you weren't ready to say."  

"You knew?" Eddie asked, shocked.  

Bill nodded.  

"I...I thought...maybe you guys wouldn't want to friends with me anymore...if I told you," Eddie whispered, wringing his hands. 

"Eddie Kaspbrak, nothing could make us turn our backs on you," Mike said, brown eyes serious. Then he laughed. "Well, unless you murdered someone. Don't tell us if you did something like that."  

Eddie smiled slightly, lips trembling.  

"Derry has enough problems without a killer Eddie running around," Ben agreed. "But seriously, Eddie, we're your friends. We don't care who you like or don't like. You can like whoever you want." 

"As long as you don't tell us you have a crush on Henry Bowers, I think we're good," Beverly said, winking at Eddie. "Does Richie know?" 

Eddie shook his head. "N-no...only you guys know. Please don't tell him..." 

"We won't, Eddie," Bill said. "This is your story to share."  

Each pair of eyes trained on him were so warm, so kind, so soft. Eddie felt small under their weight—but also loved. The tremble that had started in his lips spread throughout his body until he was quivering. Warm tears spilled over his cheeks, relief in every tear that fell.  

Before Eddie could move, all of the other Losers had risen to their feet to approach him. Bill hugged him first, then Stan, and then the others. Eddie was lost in a sea warm embraces, each gripping him so tightly that he felt he couldn't breathe—but in a good way. He felt Beverly's slender fingers brushing through his hair, gently pushing his bangs away from his face, and that's what pushed him over the edge. A strangled sob left him, and then another—louder this time.  

And then he was crying, overwhelming relief cutting sharply through him as his friends—his beautiful friends who _didn't hate him_ for being who and what he was—rocked and held him, never letting go. 

And they never would. 

*** 

**_September 1991_ **  

"Richie, wake up! School!"  

Richie groaned at the sound of Eddie's voice, wanting more than anything to turn over, burrow under the covers, and fall back asleep. Instead, his eyes opened to see Eddie standing in his doorway, head cocked to the side in that oh-so-Eddie manner.   

"Fuck school," Richie muttered, voice hoarse with sleep. 

Eddie laughed, and Richie found himself smiling. Eddie's sweet laughter always had that effect on him, even on an early morning being dragged out of bed by said sweetness.  

"My mom made pancakes for us," Eddie said, smiling warmly. "Since it's the first day of high school." 

Richie sat up, stretching his bare arms and bending his back. Eddie looked away as he did, face somewhat flushed. Richie wondered on this for a moment, but then brushed it aside. 

"I've never had a mom around to do this kind of shit for me," Richie said. "Or at least, not that I can really remember."  

"Yeah, I know," Eddie murmured.       

Richie looked up at Eddie and those soft brown eyes, and his heart felt full.  

"Uh, Richie?" 

"Yeah?" 

"If you ever want to talk about it—about your mom—you can talk to me. If you want." 

And there went Richie's heart, beating faster and faster. He wanted so badly to jump out of bed, grab Eddie, and just hold the other boy.  

But he couldn't. Eddie would freak the fuck out.  

"Thanks, Eds," Richie said instead.  

"How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?' Eddie said, frowning, but without much heat in the expression.  

"I dunno. Guess you'll have to tell me a million because I'm never going to stop." 

"You're literally the worst, Richie Tozier." 

Richie grinned. "So about those pancakes..." 

*** 

As Eddie biked to school beside Richie—it felt so odd to pass the junior high and continue on toward the high school—he wondered what the day would bring. As he let his mind wander, Richie yammered on next to him, something about making out with cheerleaders. 

Eddie sighed. "What cheerleader is going to make out with you, Rich? They don't even know you exist." 

_But I do._  

"I'm hurt, Kaspbrak. Hurt! They'll all know who I am when they're begging for me, just you wait." 

Eddie grinned, shaking his head ruefully. He still hadn't told Richie he was gay like he had his other friends. He wouldn't be able to stand it if Richie drew away, looked at him like a disgusting leper or something. Eddie didn't dare risk it.  

When they arrived at the school, the Bowers gang had taken up residence by the front door, sneering at all the new freshmen.  

Eddie's stomach dropped. He still remembered how badly Henry Bowers and those goons had fucked Richie up last year. He didn't want a repeat performance. 

"Richie, let's find another door," Eddie hissed, tugging on Richie's arm. 

"Sure thing, little bro," Richie muttered, letting Eddie lead him away toward the side of the school. 

Eddie didn't notice Henry's beady eyes following him, Patrick's wolfish grin, or Vic and Belch's low chuckles. Eddie didn't know that the Losers hadn't been the only people in the barrens that day in August, just a week before Richie's fifteenth birthday. He didn't know that a little bird had told Henry exactly what Eddie had said. 

And Eddie especially didn't know that Henry Bowers and his friends had plans for little Eddie Kaspbrak. 

***  

The day went by mostly without a hitch. Sure, there were times where Eddie wasn't quite sure where he was going in the halls. There were also times where other students seemed to staring at Eddie, whispering behind their hands, and he didn't know why.  

He decided not to worry about it. 

Eddie made his way to his locker to drop off his books. He couldn't help but notice how strangely quiet it was. Why weren't other students around? He frowned, wanting to hurry and get out of there.  

He shoved his unneeded textbooks into his locker before turning to head out a side door.  

"Where ya heading, fag?" 

Eddie froze before slowly turning around to see Henry Bowers standing at the other end of the hall. Henry looked thoughtful, leaning against the wall with one foot pressed against it.  

Henry had a knife in his hands, which he was turning over and over.  

"You know, it's pretty rude for you not to respond to a question, fucking girly boy," Henry continued, staring at Eddie with frightening calm. He stepped forward away from the wall, toward Eddie. 

Eddie's eyes widened, and he turned to run. But he'd only made it a step before he slammed into the lanky form of Patrick Hockstetter, who grabbed Eddie with ease and began dragging him back toward Henry. Vic and Belch stepped up behind Patrick, following as they stared at Eddie with baleful eyes.  

Eddie struggled, trying desperately to get out of Patrick's grip, but Patrick held him like it was nothing, lugging his small body like he was no more than a tiny sack of flour. To Patrick, that's exactly what he was. 

"Calm down, mouse," Patrick whispered in Eddie's ear. "We just want to play. It should be fun. Besides, you like _boys_ , don't you? _Don't you?_ I'll let you suck my cock if you want. You can show me the skills you've been improving down in the barrens." 

Eddie gaped at Patrick, stomach churning. "Wh-wh-what?" he squeaked.  

Patrick shook his head, tutting at him. "Don't be so naïve, mouse. You're not the only one who hangs out in the barrens, who gets to hear _secrets_ down there, where little boys act like little girls." 

Eddie felt tears welling in his eyes, and he struggled harder, though it was no use. 

_They know. They know. THEY KNOW._  

"Come on, let's go," Henry said, gesturing toward a back exit of the school that no one seemed to use. He headed toward the door—Patrick, Vic, and Belch following, Patrick with Eddie in tow. 

Patrick yanked Eddie through the door, and the group made their way toward a secluded grove behind the school. No other students were around, likely because they somehow knew. Henry was still playing with that knife, and Eddie felt sheer terror rocket through him. No one would know where he was. Henry could murder him, and no one would be the wiser.  

Finally the group reached the trees. Patrick shoved Eddie forward. He bounced off of Henry's chest before hurriedly stepping back. The other boys stood in a circle around him, faces dark and mean.  

"Always knew you were a flaming faggot, Kaspbrak," Henry said. "But hearing you say it would just be the sweetest icing on the cake." 

Eddie's breathing picked up, and he stared at Henry in a mixture of fear and shock. 

"I d-don't know what you're talking about," he whispered. 

"You know, I'm gonna really need you not to lie right now," Henry growled, stepping toward him. 

Eddie tried to move back again, but Vic and Belch were instantly behind him, grabbing his arms and holding him still. Henry stepped up in front of him, waving the knife in Eddie's face. 

"If you admit it, maybe I won't gut you like the flaming pig you are," Henry whispered, leaning close until his eyes were only inches away from Eddie's. Cruelty shown in those eyes, and Eddie knew no matter what Henry said, he would be walking away with more than bruises today.   

And all because Henry somehow knew he was gay. 

_We-we're glad you told us, Eddie_ _._ _We kind of knew, but w-we didn't want to make you say anything you weren't ready to say._  

"No? Not going to say what a fucking faggot you are?" 

_Eddie_ _Kaspbrak_ _, nothing could make us turn our backs on you_ _._  

A burning heat raced through Eddie's body—but it wasn't the good kind, like when he was around Richie. No, this was rage. He could smell its acrid ozone, taste it on his tongue. Henry Bowers was going to kill him for liking boys? _For liking good people like Richie?_   

"Fuck you," Eddie whispered. 

Henry blinked, face growing dark. "What the fuck did you say, faggot?" 

Eddie's face burned red with anger, tears forgotten. His eyebrows dipped low, lips pulling back in a snarl. "I said _fuck you_ , _Henry fucking Bowers!_ " 

The punch came so quickly, Eddie had no time to prepare. Henry's fist crashed into his face, knocking his head back against Belch's shoulder. Henry grabbed his hair, pulling his head forward only to strike him again. Dizziness swept through him, and Eddie's legs sagged as Henry screamed in his face, grabbing the sides of his face and shaking him. 

When Henry punched him again, Vic and Belch let Eddie drop with the force. Eddie cried out at the bruising pain in his face and then yelped as he smacked hard into the ground, head tossing back against the hard forest dirt. He had no time to recover before Henry climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.  

"You gonna admit it, girly boy? Gonna admit how your cock gets hard when you think about naked boys and how bad you want them to shove their dicks up your ass?" 

Eddie wordlessly stared up at Henry. 

_We don't care who you like or don't like. You can like whoever you want._  

"It doesn't matter," Eddie whispered. 

"The fuck you say, faggot?" 

"I said it doesn't matter, you fucking asshole!" Eddie leaned up as best he could with Henry holding him down and shouted the words straight into Henry's face. He was expecting the blow this time, and he turned his head so Henry's fist slammed into his ear rather than his nose.   

Henry picked up a handful of dirt and rocks and shoved it into Eddie's face, rubbing it into his skin until it bled. When Eddie cried out, Henry pushed more into his mouth, grinding the rocks against Eddie's teeth and cutting the inside of his mouth. Eddie choked, trying to spit out the gravel, insides curling with disgust at the thought of how many germs had just been launched into his mouth. Henry covered Eddie's mouth with a hand, forcing Eddie to keep the rocks in his mouth as Henry grabbed another handful of dirt and rubbed it into Eddie's face, not caring about how the younger boy was choking and sobbing under Henry's grip. When Henry finally let go, the rocks came out of Eddie's mouth bloody. 

Eddie choked and spluttered, small pebbles still grinding in his teeth as he gasped for air. His eyes squinted closed against the dust. Blood dripped from his mouth down his chin. 

"That's a nice look on him," Patrick said from somewhere above him. "Do you think he'd look as nice sucking me off?" 

Henry barked a laugh. "Little fag would probably like it."  

Eddie's eyes flew open at a clicking sound near his face. He flinched violently at the switchblade being held only an inch from one of his eyes. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when Henry pulled the blade away, but the terror returned when Belch and Vic began to tug his tucked shirt out of his pants.  

"Wh-what are you doing? Get off!" he shrieked, fighting to stay clothed, but Patrick knelt and held his arms down, lifting them one at a time to let the boys wrestle the shirt over Eddie's head.  

When the shirt was off and tossed somewhere in the bushes, Henry looked up at the other boys, communicating something silently. Patrick continued holding Eddie's arms down while Vic and Belch stepped around Henry to kneel next to Eddie's feet. Both took one of his legs and pinned it to the dirt, effectively ensuring that Eddie could hardly move.  

Henry moved down to sit on Eddie's thighs, leaving the smaller boy's soft belly exposed. It rippled with waves of adrenaline and fear. Marrow-deep tremors of terror sparked through him as Henry ran a rough hand over his stomach.  

"Pretty obvious you don't know your fucking place, you queer," Henry breathed, bringing the knife up to rest against Eddie's quivering belly. "But if I write it down for you, maybe, just maybe, you'll remember for the rest of your queer fucking life." 

When the knife sunk into his skin, Eddie screamed, bucking against the hold of his captors. They didn't budge. 

_Slice. Slice. Slice._  

Tears poured from Eddie's eyes as the cutting continued. The agony was blinding, never-ending, all consuming. It gripped him like a strangling chokehold, wringing him until he could feel nothing, taste nothing, smell nothing, hear nothing but anguish and hurt. Gut-wrenching wailing filled the air, but it took a moment for Eddie to realize it was him making that noise.  

The wailing lifted to shrieks as pure as a banshee's as Henry got to the middle of his belly and started cutting around his navel. Eddie knew Henry was writing something, but he couldn't concentrate on what. The pain took all of his focus, surrounding his mind like a bees' nest—buzzing, swarming, stinging. His body writhed as he struggling to escape the agony, and he vaguely heard Vic and Belch cussing as they held on to his legs as he tried to kick.  

"Fucking _let me go_!" he screamed before dissolving into harsh sobbing.  

"Maybe you can suck Patrick's dick, if you need a distraction that bad," Henry muttered. 

Eddie choked at the words, shrinking in on himself. Or trying to at least, with three pairs of hands holding him down and another body straddling his thighs.  

After what seemed like hours and after Eddie started to hyperventilate, Henry finally lifted his knife away. Eddie could feel blood seeping down his middle and sides, the air stinging so badly he wanted to die.  

"Not bad, not bad," Henry said. "What do you think?" Henry wiped off the knife and held it so that Eddie could see his stomach reflecting in the blade. 

One word was carved into his skin, blood pooling in the letters and dripping from them. 

_QUEER_. 

Eddie felt fresh tears falling down his cheeks, though he didn't know how he had any tears left. He thought of Richie looking at him and seeing that word, the disgust that would be on Richie's face and in Richie's eyes. Shame burned through him. 

"It's my best work, if I do say so myself," Henry said.  

Eddie's breathing grew harsher at the words, and suddenly all he could feel was rage. Even though he felt like he could pass out at any moment, Eddie started struggling again, needing to free himself and _fucking destroy Henry Bowers_. His sudden movements startled the boys enough that he was able to free one of his arms and legs, and he used them to kick Belch in the face and punch Henry in the throat. The sound of both of them cursing sent a thrill of triumph through him.   

Henry grabbed his flailing arm, gripping his wrist so tightly that the bones squeezed together. Eddie winced. Patrick let go of Eddie's other arm, standing back as Henry yanked Eddie into a sitting position, Henry's other hand fisting in Eddie's hair. 

"You fucking little faggot!" Henry screamed. "You don't fight me, you stupid bitch!" 

Eddie stared at Henry—at that ugly blond mullet, at his cruel eyes, at the teeth he was baring at Eddie as he continued to scream profanities and slurs while shaking Eddie by the hair. 

"I'm gonna make you wish you were never born, _you goddamn girly boy bitch!_ " 

Eddie Kaspbrak hated germs. He hated everything associated with them, including bodily fluids. If you had told him he would do what he did next, he would have laughed in your face.   

But that was before this moment.  

In this moment, he reared back and spat directly into Henry Bowers's face.  

Henry froze, shocked, as Eddie's spit dripped down his face. He gaped at Eddie, astounded. 

"Y-you..." Henry trailed off. 

And Eddie—Eddie laughed, blood still dribbling from his mouth as he did so. He laughed right in Henry's face, a loud, donkey-like bray that cut through the tears still streaming down his cheeks. 

Henry's brows steadily dipped lower and lower, face growing dark and eyes lighting bright with a murderous, utterly mad hatred. Eddie's laughter choked off, fear rising under that look.  

Henry shoved Eddie back down in the dirt. He landed hard, the wind knocked out of him. Henry seemed to be searching the ground for something. Eddie's eyes flew wide open when Henry lifted a good-sized rock.  

Henry grinned at the look at Eddie's face. "Not so funny now, fag?" 

He gestured to Patrick, who smiled as though holding younger children down and torturing them was a pleasant thing. Patrick took Eddie's right arm and pulled it so that it was stretched out to Eddie's side; Patrick gripped it by Eddie's wrist and bicep, holding the limb taut.   

Henry lifted the rock above his head, grin growing wider and wider as Eddie shouted. He waited for a split second and then swung the rock down with all strength on Eddie's forearm. 

Eddie felt a horrible crack in his arm as his bone splintered from the force, and he screamed, arching his back. The boys let go of him then, and he pulled his broken arm to his chest, hyperventilating with the pain. He was somewhat aware of the boys standing around him, taunting him, laughing at him. The pain was enormous, and part of him couldn't believe he was still conscious.  

"Got any more jokes for us, queer boy?" Henry asked. 

Eddie looked up at Henry, barely seeing through the waves of agony crashing through him from both his arm and his cut-up belly. When he made no reply, Henry chuckled.  

Henry bent down and spat in Eddie's face. Eddie barely stifled a scream as Patrick, Vic, and the Belch followed suit.  

"Let's go," Henry said after they had finished desecrating their prey, and the boys followed him out of the grove, leaving Eddie Kaspbrak lying broken, alone, and bleeding on the ground.  

Eddie turned on his left side, still cradling his broken arm. His thoughts were scrambled, but he found himself thinking of Richie. As he began to cry again, he wished Richie were there.  

"R-Richie," he sobbed. 

But there was no reply.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be spanning the years from 1989-1994. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Rating will change as well.
> 
> I will be posting this on Tumblr—as well as my usual Reddie spam. Feel free to come say hi! [reddieinthestars.tumblr.com](http://reddieinthestars.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

**_September 199_** ** _1_ **  

Richie stood outside the front of the high school, waiting for Eddie to show up so they could bike home. The other Losers had already come and gone, saying they would see Eddie and him tomorrow. As the minutes passed, Richie felt more and more uneasy. He knew being at a new school could hold Eddie up a bit, but twenty minutes had gone by with no sign of his stepbrother.  

"Where the fuck are you, Eddie?" he muttered.  

He startled when he suddenly heard voices drawing closer to him. He ducked just inside the door as Henry Bowers came around the side of the school, followed closely by Patrick Hockstetter, Victor Criss, and Belch Huggins. They were joking and laughing about something, Henry playing with a knife. As they came closer, Richie realized with dim horror that there was blood on Henry's shirt—and it wasn't Henry's.   

"Oh no, Henry! Don't hurt me, Henry!" Henry said in a falsetto, opening his eyes wide and waving his hands. "I'm so fucking _gay_ , Henry!" 

"Think those cuts will scar?" Patrick asked, licking his lips at the memory of....something. 

"They better," Henry said, returning to his normal voice. "I didn't cut that entire word for it not to stay on that fucking fag's skin for the rest of his fucking life."  

"You really had to break his arm like that?" Belch asked. "I mean, damn—"  

"Little Faggot Kaspbrak has to learn his fucking place," Henry interrupted, giving Belch a withering look that silenced the other teen.  

"I think he has," Vic muttered. 

Terror like Richie had never known rose inside of him, suffusing everything with its black depths, resting on his tongue like sewer water. He waited for agonizing minutes until Henry and the others had gone down the street a ways before he flew out of his hiding spot, running around the corner of the school in the direction the teens had come from.  

"Eddie!" he shouted as he reached the back of the school. No one was there, the field deserted.  

But a trail of blood lay in the grass, rusty stains pointing toward a grove of trees on the far side of the field. The cloudy sky was growing darker, the last vestiges of summer seeming to fade as Richie ran toward the trees, heartbeat pumping in his ears, fear rising as a lump in his throat.  

He would never forget what he saw at the end of the blood trail. 

Eddie lay on his side, shirtless and sobbing, thin wails rising every few seconds. Blood coated his naked front, smeared up to his chin and down his pant legs. He cradled his right arm, which was purple and blue with horrific bruising; Richie didn't have to be told it was broken.   

"Eddie, oh my god!" Richie cried as he rushed toward the other boy, kneeling beside Eddie's curled form. "Eds, I-I—" 

Richie's hands fluttered in the air; he didn't know where to touch, what to do. Eddie was hurt worse than he'd ever seen anyone hurt in his life.  

Eddie didn't seem to hear Richie, still weeping with his eyes tightly closed, anguish etched into every line of his thin face.

Richie's hand closed over Eddie's shoulder, the one place Eddie didn't seem to be hurt. 

Eddie gave a full-body jerk at the touch, crying out in pain at the movement. His brown eyes slowly opened, looking up at Richie with terror that had Richie's heart breaking.   

"R-Richie?" he asked, voice hoarse.  

"It's me, Eds," Richie said. He used his other hand to gently brush Eddie's hair back, away from Eddie's reddened eyes. Bleeding cuts lay all over the boy's face—in Eddie's cheeks, lips, even eyelids. "We need to get you to the hospital." 

Eddie let go of his broken arm to take one of Richie's hands. "I knew you'd find me," he whispered, eyes falling half-closed. 

Richie's heart lurched at the words. "Can you stand?" he asked. 

"I...I don't know," Eddie said. 

"Come on, I'll help you," Richie said. He put his arms under Eddie's, gently—ever so gently—pulling Eddie into a sitting position. The movement caused the blood seeping from Eddie's front to drip faster, Eddie's skin separating. Richie looked down at Eddie's stomach as the other boy cried out softly, and what Richie saw made him see red. 

 _QUEER._  

Richie felt tears rising in his eyes, but not tears of sadness—though his heart was bleeding for Eddie. No, they were tears of _rage_. Hot fire coursed through him, burning with hatred for the boys who had hurt Eddie like this. In that moment, Richie wanted to murder Henry Bowers. 

How _dare_  Henry do this to Eddie, carve him up like some piece of meat because he was smaller and couldn't fight off four boys that were bigger than him—like anyone really could. _How fucking_ _dare_ _he._  

Richie exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus on Eddie. Eddie needed him right now. He couldn't afford to be distracted by Henry fucking Bowers. 

Not yet. 

"Come on, Eds," Richie murmured. "We're half-way there, come on." 

Richie got up on his knees so he could pull Eddie against him, placing Eddie's uninjured arm over his shoulders. The smaller boy quivered like a little bird under his hands, breathing out soft sobs that stabbed Richie's heart.  

"Come on, sweetheart. You can do it," Richie whispered, neither of them noticing the pet name that had slipped out of him. 

Eddie gingerly got up on one leg and then stood with Richie's help, face white and sweaty with shock. Richie glanced around and saw Eddie's shirt lying in the bushes. Ever so slowly, he let go of Eddie, who remained standing even without Richie's support. Richie hurried and grabbed the shirt, unwilling to let any piece of Eddie stay in this god-forsaken grove, and tucked it under his arm before pulling Eddie to his side again.  

Thus began the long walk to the hospital, Eddie crying and holding his broken arm and Richie glaring at anyone who dared look their way. 

*** 

Eddie felt like he was floating.  

When he and Richie had finally made it through the doors of the hospital—Eddie trembling in pain and Richie coated in Eddie's blood—the nurses had taken one look at the pair before jumping to their feet and pulling Eddie into the emergency room.   

It felt like he'd spent hours there as they'd taken stock of his injuries. The doctor's lips had pursed at the word embedded in Eddie's stomach, and Eddie had felt like crying all over again. Had, in fact, tears sliding down his bruised cheeks as the nurses and doctor glanced at each other with knowing eyes.   

The nurses had gently placed gauze over the cuts so they could take care of his broken arm first. They had taken an x-ray, showing how Henry Bowers had fractured his bone. Eddie had whimpered as the doctor lifted his arm, looking over the bruising with kind eyes. After a shot of local anesthesia, the doctor carefully snapped the bone back into place, giving Eddie a reassuring smile while doing so.  

Next had come the cast. Then the stiches for the slur bleeding from his belly.  

After some general patching up for the cuts and bruises adorning his face and upper body, he was finally placed in a hospital bed.  

His mother and Mr. Tozier were there by this point, Mrs. Kaspbrak a wailing, weeping mess as per usual as Mr. Tozier tried to calm her down. Richie sat beside them, uncharacteristically quiet as he gazed at Eddie. 

There was still blood on Richie's shirt. Eddie's blood. 

Eddie's insides twisted at the sight. Flashes of Henry's face above him danced before his eyes, those cruel eyes so calm as Henry carved Eddie's skin and crushed his arm.  

"Those boys should be arrested," his mother said, fuming. She wiped sweat from her brow.  

"The police have been called, Sonia," Mr. Tozier said, attempting to soothe his wife. "They'll be here soon to take a statement." 

"And lying about my sweet boy like this," Mrs. Kaspbrak said, continuing like she hadn't heard her husband at all. "'Queer.' My boy is perfectly normal. Delicate to be sure, but normal." 

"Mom." 

Mrs. Kaspbrak went quiet at Eddie's voice, raspy from the drugs pumping through his system.  

Eddie took a deep breath, wanting to say anything but what he was about to say. "Henry Bowers wasn't lying."  

Silence. His mother and Mr. Tozier stared at Eddie.  

Mrs. Kaspbrak rallied first. "What do you mean, sweetie?" 

Eddie blinked rapidly, trying to quell the tears that wanted to rise again. He could see Richie gazing at him out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't look at the other boy. 

He couldn't bear to see Richie's face when Richie realized what kind of boy Eddie really was.  

"I'm exactly what he wrote," Eddie whispered. "I'm....I'm queer." 

Mrs. Kaspbrak gasped. "Eddie, honey, you don't know what you're saying. It's the painkillers, isn't it? I—" 

"No, Ma," Eddie said, voice shaking. "I'm gay. I'm queer. I like boys, not girls." He paused. "I'm sorry."  

"Eddie, that isn't true," Mrs. Kaspbrak insisted.  

"It is." 

Mrs. Kaspbrak burst into tears, wringing her hands. "You don't know what you're saying, Eddie! Why are you saying this? To hurt me?" 

"No, Mom!" Eddie cried. Ringing shrilled in his ears, the antiseptic smell of the hospital cloying his nostrils as his mother rejected his words.  "I can't—I can't help it—" 

"I'm going to get you help," his mother said, cutting him off. "You're just sick, sweetie. It's okay. Mama will help you." 

"I'm not sick," Eddie said. "I just...I just like boys." 

"Stop saying that!" Mrs. Kaspbrak cried. "It isn't true." 

"Sonia, maybe it is," Mr. Tozier said, speaking up at last. "There's nothing wrong with Eddie. Calm down." 

"Don't you tell _me_ to be calm about _my_ son, Wentworth!" she said, voice rising as she got to her feet. Her face was red and puffy. "My boy is delicate and just needs help." She turned back to Eddie. "I'm going to figure this out, sweetie. Don't you worry."  

"You can't fix my being gay, Mom," Eddie murmured, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his heart at his mother's reaction.   

"Stop it! Don't you say that!" Mrs. Kaspbrak gave a loud wail and walked out of the room.  

Mr. Tozier looked at Eddie. "Don't worry, son. It's okay," he said, reaching out to squeeze Eddie's hand. "Everything's okay."   

With that, he let go of Eddie's hand and followed his wife out into the hall, closing the door behind him. 

Eddie sunk back against the pillows and buried his face in his hands, still struggling to keep his tears at bay. His shoulders shook, and he tasted bile. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

 _Richie_. 

Eddie lifted his head.  

Richie still sat in the corner, lips downturned. 

"Did you think you couldn't trust me?" Richie asked. 

"No!" Eddie swallowed hard. "Richie, that's...that's not true..." 

"Then why?" Richie demanded, standing. "I thought we were friends—no, best friends!" He paused. "Do the others know?" 

Eddie stared at him. Richie must have seen the truth in his eyes because Richie swore and turned away. 

"Richie, I didn't—I didn't mean—" 

"Didn't mean _what_ , Kaspbrak?" Richie asked, whirling back around. His voice sounded angry, but Eddie saw the reality in Richie's brown eyes. 

Richie was hurt.  

"I didn't...I just didn't..." Eddie trailed off, those hated tears rising again. This was exactly what he didn't want to have happen, and here he was, hurting Richie with the truth.   

Richie waited, eyes wide behind his coke-bottle glasses and brows furrowed.  

"I didn't want you to be ashamed of me," Eddie finally whispered. His harsh breaths hurt the cuts on his belly as he curled into himself. Why couldn't he just be normal?  

 _Why couldn’t he just be_ _fucking_ _normal?_  

Suddenly warm arms wrapped around Eddie, tugging him gently against Richie's chest. Richie slung one arm around his waist, the other hand coming up to rest on Eddie's cheek, ever so soft against the bruises marring Eddie's face.  

"Eddie Kaspbrak, I will never be ashamed of you," Richie said, eyes boring into Eddie's. "Not now. Not ever." 

Eddie stared at Richie as warm tears began to fall down his cheeks. Heat rose in his chest at Richie's words, and with it came hope. Richie's brown eyes still gazed at him, kindness and something else in their depths. Eddie suddenly remembered that day only two months ago at the quarry lake when Richie had looked at him like this, something strong, magnetic, and possibly dangerous swirling in the air between them.  

Richie's thumb tenderly swiped under Eddie's eyes, wiping away the smaller boy's tears before Richie's hand slid into Eddie's hair, gently pulling his head to Richie's shoulder.  

Eddie lost it then, dissolving into wracking sobs—stark relief at Richie's reaction, pain at his mother's. Eddie's arms, even the broken one, slid around Richie's waist, holding on for dear life. Richie held him through it all, whispering sweet nothings into Eddie's ear as Richie slowly rocked him, somehow keeping the world together in that moment. 

*** 

Richie didn't know how much time had gone by before Eddie quieted, going still. A while longer passed before Richie realized Eddie had drifted to sleep in his arms, breathing soft and slow.  

A smile rose on Richie's lips as he gazed down at the smaller boy. Sure, he was still a little hurt that Eddie had kept this secret from him, but he found it impossible to feel anything but adoration as he watched Eddie sleep—expression peaceful, lips slightly parted, curls falling over Eddie's forehead, and cinnamon freckles sweet under the lights. Richie very lightly brushed his finger against Eddie's long eyelashes, savoring the feeling.  

Eddie was beautiful. There was no doubt about it in Richie's mind. 

 _If I think Eddie is beautiful, am I gay, too?_   

Richie considered this. He let his mind wander to the pretty girls in the magazines he sometimes saw, to the cute cheerleaders at school, even to Beverly. All of them were beautiful. All of them made him feel something, deep down where he was all raw feeling. 

But Eddie made him feel more. Even now, looking at the smaller boy in his arms made Richie not just want to kiss Eddie breathless but to protect Eddie from ever being hurt again.  

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Eddie's warm forehead, letting his lips linger against Eddie's soft skin. 

Richie Tozier liked girls, that was for sure. But he found he was okay with liking boys, too—especially ones as magnificent as Eddie Kaspbrak. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie recovers physically from his beating but encounters more cruelty along the way. Richie tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I am so sorry for the delay on this chapter, my friends! I've been in the process of moving and starting a new job, which took away a lot of my time. But I'm back now; please feel free to throw something at me if I ever take this long again!_ :3
> 
> This story will be spanning the years from 1989-1994. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Rating will change as well.
> 
> I will be posting this on Tumblr—as well as my usual Reddie spam. Feel free to come say hi! [reddieinthestars.tumblr.com](http://reddieinthestars.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

**_September 1991_ **  

"Eddie? Are you ready to go?" 

Eddie was sitting on his bed, knees tucked up under his chin, but he looked up at the sound of Richie's voice.  

Richie stood in the doorway, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans for school, dark curls wild around his head as usual. His black eyes were soft behind his coke-bottle glasses, gazing at Eddie with that strange light they had picked up ever since that night of secrets and admissions in the hospital. 

"Yeah," Eddie murmured, not feeling very ready at all for his first day back at school after the beating. His gaze fell down to his cast, which looked particularly white in the sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. He hadn't let Richie write or draw anything on it, no matter how much the other boy begged. Eddie just couldn't let anyone touch it yet, just as he hadn't let Richie really see the ruined state of his stomach. When the doctors had told him the word carved into his skin would scar, Eddie had nodded silently and waited until he and his mother had gotten home before racing into the bathroom, locking the door, and bursting into tears, sobbing so hard he nearly made himself sick. 

He had never wanted to see the patronizing eyes of the doctors and nurses at Derry Hospital ever again. Even now, he could feel their gazes on him—had experienced three days' worth of those looks after Henry attacked him.  

Those three days had been spent testing Eddie for any diseases or internal injuries. He had also given a statement to the police, which had been utterly humiliating—him tiny and bandaged and frail-looking in a hospital bed and them staring with silent judgment in their eyes.  

 _The eyes of Derry._  

The two police officers' noncommittal grunts during his version of the story had confirmed all he needed to know—nothing would happen to Henry, Patrick, Vic, and Belch for what the teens had done to him, nothing because he was queer and nothing because that’s how Derry seemed to operate, by turning a blind eye to anything amiss.  

Even if what was amiss was a young boy who had been shockingly brutalized for seemingly no reason beyond liking boys a little too much. 

Eddie rose to his feet and followed Richie down the stairs to the front door. 

"Are you sure you boys don't want a ride?" Mr. Tozier asked from where he sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee.  

Eddie said nothing, gazing instead at Mrs. Kaspbrak, who stood washing their breakfast dishes with her back turned to them. Before Eddie had told her he was gay, she would have dragged him to school in her old sedan, his embarrassment be damned. But now...  

He sighed inwardly, shoving down the hurt that rose inside him as it always did in moments like this. His mother was overbearing to be sure, but to go from over attentiveness to being given looks that ranged from icy cold to tearful hurt, as though she’d been the one wronged instead of him, was overwhelming. He felt like he was being suffocated beneath the massive emotional weight of his mother's being. Sometimes Eddie heard her crying to herself in the bathroom, and he wanted to die. Sometimes it sent him into an asthma attack, as though his body were agreeing with him. 

He was grateful for Mr. Tozier, who didn’t treat him like a picture frame that had been thrown to the ground and shattered. But that didn’t mean that the man made any move to change his mother’s mind.  

"No, Dad, we're okay," Richie said after far too long of a pause. 

Richie—almost fifteen-Richie, who had some new light in his eyes when looking at Eddie. Eddie didn’t know what it meant or whether it was just the result of Richie finding out Eddie’s newfound sexuality.  

Whatever the case, it didn’t seem like a bad thing. 

*** 

The day was just as awkward and frustrating as Eddie had expected, starting off with what felt like a hundred eyes on him as he'd maneuvered his bike into the rack with one arm, whispers always just loud enough for him to hear, all concerning the queer girly boy who'd gotten his ass beaten by Henry Bowers.  

 _I heard he sucks the root down in the barrens, him and his loser friends. Some fucking gay orgy._  

 _Well, I heard he sucked Patrick_ _Hockstetter's_ _cock and liked it._  

 _No wonder Bowers beat him up, nasty little shit._   

Eddie's ears had burned as he stood beside Richie and the other Losers, who had waited for them beside the bike rack.  

Richie had turned and just _glared_ at a group of girls chattering several feet away from them, occasionally gesturing at Eddie. When they'd noticed the death glower they were receiving, they'd hurried away, lips curved in irritated pouts. 

"Fuck them," Bev said.  

"S-seriously," Bill agreed, eying Eddie kindly. 

"Don't listen to them," Stan murmured. "They're not worth it. They never are." 

"Fucking bitches," Richie growled. His mouth slanted sharply in a frown, brows sloped downward in a dark expression. 

"Rich, it's okay," Eddie mumbled. 

"No, it really isn't," Richie said, finally looking back at Eddie.  

Eddie suddenly noticed how closely Richie was standing next to him. He didn't know if he or Richie—or both of them—had moved, but Richie was nearly pressed against his side, their shoulders brushing. He knew he was staring at Richie, but he couldn't seem to look away. Away from that strange light that he couldn't place but that he wanted to know. 

"I don't think Eddie should be alone today," Mike said.  

Eddie tore his gaze away from Richie to look at Mike, whose expression was both thoughtful and protective.  

"I'm standing right here," Eddie told him dryly. 

"Shut up, Eddie," Mike replied with a broad smile. 

"Wow, aren't you supposed to be nice to me or something since I got the shit beat out of me?" 

"I'm always nice to you," Mike said with a laugh. 

Eddie sniffed primly before smiling back. The bruises lingering on his cheeks hurt a bit from the movement, but it felt good in a way. He'd had so little to smile about this past week.  

"I think Mike's right," Ben said. He put a hand on Eddie's shoulder, standing close. "Bowers has had it out for all of us for, well, forever, but it's never been this bad. Sorry, Eddie, but I don't think you should be alone either." 

"There's at least one of us in all your classes except history," Stan said. "We can walk you between classes." 

"Guys, I'm not fucking _five_ ," Eddie said, feeling small under his friends' gazes.  

 _I'm not weak. I'm_ not _._   

"No, you're not," Richie said, as if in answer to Eddie's thoughts. "But we're still walking you between classes."  

"But—"  

"Eds, please." 

Eddie blinked at the fierceness of Richie's voice. He looked up at his stepbrother, whose gaze was both intense and pleading.  

 _Eddie_ _Kaspbrak_ _, I will never be ashamed of you. Not now. Not ever._  

Warmth flooded through Eddie's chest under that gaze; without realizing, he pressed himself a little closer into Richie's side. After a moment, he nodded. 

After that had come several class periods of trying to figure out how to write while his dominant arm was broken. His teachers had ranged in reaction from awkwardly understanding to irked at his presence, as though his injuries were somehow his own fault. Mr. McMullin, his gym teacher, had seemed downright angry when Eddie had sat out, muttering something about _fag girly boy_ _s_ as Eddie had taken a seat in the bleachers off to the side.                                                                                                                        

But the worst had come in his history class, his last period of the day. None of the other losers shared the class with Eddie—in most of his other periods, at least one of them had been there and had volunteered to write his notes for him—so Eddie shyly asked Greta Keene, the daughter of the pharmacist who provided his asthma inhalers and medicine, who sat next to him, if she would mind writing for him. 

She stared at him for a moment, twirling her long, dirty blonde ponytail around her fingers as she blew a bubble with her hot pink gum.  

Eddie found himself wanting to shove his pencil through the bubble—a wordless 'nevermind.' 

But before he could do so, she sucked the bubble back in with a nasty pop and had nodded with a roll of her overly made up eyes. She scooted a little closer to him, and he slid his notebook across his desk to her.  

Her hazel eyes lit on his cast, and she stared at it quite unabashedly for a moment before looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. Eddie felt heat rising in his still somewhat bruised cheeks. The judgment in her eyes reminded him of all the looks he'd endured in the hospital from the doctors and then the police—the judgment that told him he was a _fucking faggot_ and deserved all the hurt that had come to him. Maybe even deserved more for being a _disgusting_ _aberration_.  

Greta blew another bubble before saying, "No one's signed your cast? So sad." She gave an exaggerated motion of wiping tears away. 

"I didn't want it to get dirty," Eddie muttered, though that was far from the reason.  

He didn't want anyone touching the constant physical reminder of what he was.  

Eddie startled when Greta reached forward and grabbed his arm by the cast, pulling it toward her. The movement hurt, and he winced. But he found himself sitting silent as Greta pulled a black sharpie out of her bag.  

"I'll sign your cast for you," she said, not waiting for an answer as she popped the cap off the marker and began writing.  

Eddie stared at her as she wrote. Part of him wanted to yank his arm away. Part of him was horribly curious as to what she would write. And another part of him wished Richie would have grabbed his arm like that, even if Eddie knew the result would just have been as many dick pictures as Richie could draw before Eddie could wrest his arm away and then Eddie yelling at his idiot stepbrother. 

 _But still._  

Eddie's eyes looked down when Greta lifted the marker away from his arm.  

And his stomach fell at the word written there.  

 _LOSER._  

The letters cut into Eddie’s belly throbbed around their stitches, seeming to call out to the second cruel thing written on him. Air whistled through his throat as he tried to breathe, but his lungs came up short. Before his brain could catch up to his body, he was standing, knocking his chair over in the process with a loud clatter. 

"Mr. Kaspbrak, what are you doing?" his teacher demanded. "Sit back down, please." 

Eddie wanted to say something—anything. But he couldn't breathe. The cloying smell of blood slipped through his nostrils and down his throat, the same smell that had overtaken him in the grove behind the school one week ago—the smell of his own body being turned inside out. Of his skin being separated by cold metal. 

 _Always knew you were a flaming faggot,_ _Kaspbrak_ _._ _But hearing you say it would just be the sweetest icing on the cake._  

"Mr. Kaspbrak, please take your seat," his teacher barked. 

 _That's a nice look on_ _him. Do_ _you think he'd look as nice sucking me off?_  

Eddie gasped, struggling to take in air, but his lungs rejected the effort. His hands flew to the fanny pack strapped around his waist, desperately tugging the zipper open to get at the inhaler tucked inside. Tears welled in his eyes at his lack of air. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greta smirking at him, nothing but coldness in her eyes.  

 _Pretty obvious you don't know your fucking place, you queer._ _But if I write it down for you, maybe, just maybe, you'll remember for the rest of your queer fucking life._  

Eddie choked, finally closing his fingers around his inhaler. He shoved the nozzle in his mouth, spraying the horrible-tasting medicine down his throat as he snatched his notebook and bag and raced out of the classroom—leaving his teacher calling after him and Greta sneering in satisfaction. 

He ran to the bathroom, locking himself in one of the stalls. 

 _Got any more jokes for us, queer boy?_  

Eddie sank to the ground, unable to bring himself to care about the millions of germs probably crawling all over him from the disgusting floor as he began to cry, little wheezing wails leaving him every few minutes. The disgusting taste of his asthma medicine clogged his throat, weighing heavily on his tongue, but he took another puff of it, blinking rapidly as tears trailed down his cheeks.  

He found himself wishing Richie were there, and then began crying harder at the thought... because he knew exactly why he wanted his stepbrother right then.  

And he could never have Richie like that. Not ever.  

*** 

Richie waited beside Eddie's locker after school, humming an AC/DC track as he watched other students walking by. He refused to let Eddie even walk outside alone, not after.... well, not after everything. His thoughts drifted to what he'd seen just a week ago—Eddie lying on the ground, shirtless and bloody and sobbing—and a shiver ran through him.  

He never wanted to see Eddie like that ever again.  

After a few minutes, he saw Eddie turn around the corner, and Richie smiled. 

"Hey, Eddie Spaghetti!" he called, waving.  

Eddie didn't look up, instead continuing to slowly shuffle toward Richie.  

Richie felt a pang of unease. Eddie hadn't even protested Richie's silly nickname for him. 

"Hey, Rich," Eddie murmured when he got closer, turning to open his locker. 

Richie frowned. Eddie's voice sounded scratchy, and his eyes were red, movements slow, almost sluggish.  

 _He's been crying._  

"What's wrong?" Richie asked. "Did Bowers bother you?" 

"Nothing," Eddie said. "And no, Bowers stayed away from me. At least for today." 

Eddie began shoving his books into his locker, moving awkwardly due to his cast. Richie reached out to help, but Eddie hurriedly turned away. 

"I got it," Eddie said. 

Richie frowned. "Your fucking arm is broken, Eds." 

"Yes, _thank you_ for the reminder. I completely forgot," Eddie snapped. "And stop fucking calling me that." He continued pushing books in his locker, twisting his body so that Richie couldn't see the broken limb. 

"Why won't you let me see your arm, Eds?" 

Eddie hurried faster with his books, not answering. 

But Richie wasn't having it. He could see the tear stains on Eddie's bruised cheeks, the pain in each of the smaller boy's motions. He reached out and grabbed Eddie's shoulder.   

The smaller boy startled almost violently, pulling away from Richie's hand. But in the process, he lost his precarious grip on the stack of notes and books in his arms, and they dropped to the floor with a crash and a flutter of papers. 

"Fuck!" Eddie cried, dropping to his knees with a wince to start gathering his things. 

Even with Eddie's frantic movements, Richie could see something written on Eddie's cast. He sank to his knees and gently grasped Eddie's arm, stilling the smaller boy's motions.  

"No, no," Eddie whispered, shaking as Richie read the word so carelessly scrawled across the Eddie's arm. 

 _LOSER_. 

Rage rose inside Richie in a fiery torrent, his lip curling back in a snarl. He let out a shaky breath, tasting bile as he did so.  

"Who wrote this?" he asked.  

Eddie said nothing, eyes glued to the ground. 

 _"Who fucking wrote this, Eddie?"_  

"Richie, please," Eddie whispered, glancing at the students passing them in the hall—students who were starting to stare at the two boys—the trashmouth and the queer—kneeling in the hallway. "It doesn't matter. Greta Keene—" 

"I'll fucking kill her," Richie growled even as he struggled to suppress the urge to find Greta and _just fucking end her_.  

"Please, Richie, can we just go home?" Eddie asked, nearly begging. "I just...I just want to go home." 

Richie's heart sank at the defeat in Eddie's voice. He wished he could take Eddie away from Derry, away from all the fucking assholes here who thought anything was wrong with someone as perfect as Eddie Kaspbrak.  

Maybe he could take Eddie home to California. 

 _Someday_. 

"Yeah, let's go home," Richie said softly, wishing he meant anywhere but their cold house in Derry, Maine—capital of bigots.  

*** 

Eddie rode in front of Richie, not wanting to see the pity in the other boy's eyes. Every time Richie tried to catch up, Eddie pedaled faster, unwilling to let Richie draw abreast of him. Richie gave up after a few tries, sighing loudly before continuing on in silence until they reached the Tozier-Kaspbrak residence. 

As they dropped their bikes on the front lawn, Eddie heard a soft, "Eddie?" behind him. His heart constricted at the tentative tone in Richie's voice; Richie was never like this—never quiet, never anything but a loud whirlwind of laughter.  

But Eddie walked away and into the house, leaving his stepbrother behind. 

"Oh, Eddie Bear, come here, would you?" Mrs. Kaspbrak asked from the sitting room.  

Eddie sighed inwardly before heading toward the sound of his mother's voice.  

She was sitting in her usual chair, all her extra weight settled around her like a cushion, huge feet propped up as she filed her fingernails. She looked up at him as he entered the room, seeming happier than she'd been since that night at the hospital. 

"Yes, Mom?" Eddie asked, holding his arms behind him so she wouldn't see the writing on his cast.  

"Eddie, dear, I made an appointment with Doctor Pelletier for you next month."  

Eddie blinked. "The psychologist?" he asked. "W-why do you want to take me to a psychologist?" 

"Sweetie, I've been doing a lot of thinking about what you told me in the hospital. And I know this...sickness...of yours can be cured. I've heard a lot of good things about Doctor Pelletier, so I'd like you to talk to him to see what can be done." 

Ice clawed through Eddie's body at his mother's words, freezing him until all he could hear, all he could think was _sickness_. His _sickness_. His mother thought he had a _sickness_.   

"Ma, I'm not sick," he whispered. 

"Eddie, you don't know what you're saying—" 

"No, Mom!" 

Mrs. Kaspbrak froze at Eddie's sudden shout, but her surprised expression quickly morphed into anger. "I am your _mother_ , Edward Kaspbrak. I know you better than you know yourself—" 

"If you know me so well, why can't you accept that I like boys?" Eddie demanded. The coldness seeping through him dragged his stomach downward; his body trembled uncontrollably. He'd never spoken to his mother this way—not ever—but how....how could she do this to him?  

"Eddie, you don't know what you're saying. You're seeing Doctor Pelletier, and that's final. Go to your room. _Now_." 

Eddie's mouth opened and closed, struggling to form words, but Mrs. Kaspbrak had already looked away, dismissing him. He turned around and walked out of the room, past a silent Richie who for some reason was still standing there— 

 _He heard. He heard. Oh god, he heard._  

—and then up the stairs into his room. Eddie closed the door behind him with a quiet click. The walls of his bedroom swirled around him, his focus fluttering in and out. His breathing was fast and high-pitched, whistling in his ears. Bile rose on his tongue, burning his throat, to the point that he felt like he could smell the rankness of the acid. Eddie yanked his inhaler out of his fanny pack so hard that his pills fell out and spilled all over the floor, multi-colored promises of health that never seemed to do anything.  

And after next week, he'd probably have more to take, more he'd learn how to dry swallow three times a day in hopes that his brain would rewire and stop liking people with flat chests and 

 _(_ _stepbrothers_ _)_  

and narrow hips and start liking things like breasts and curves _and_ _and_ _and_ — 

Eddie wanted, needed to cry, but he couldn't, so instead, ignoring the pain of his injuries, he threw himself down on his bed, stuffed his face into his pillow, and shook with sobs that he couldn't even produce.  

*** 

Richie trudged up the stairs, feeling so many things at once that his body just trembled at the force. Two emotions he could put a finger on were shock at what Mrs. Kaspbrak had said and something akin to grief at the expression on Eddie's face when the smaller boy had walked past Richie, face blank and white, eyes unseeing. 

When he reached the top of the stairs, his eyes locked on Eddie's door, which was closed. He knew Eddie didn't want to talk to him, but Richie couldn't seem to stop his feet from stepping over to the door. He hesitated for only a moment before knocking. 

"Eds?" he called. 

No answer. 

 _Fuck it._  

Richie opened the door, instantly spotting Eddie lying on his bed, trembling like a bird that's just escaped a whirlwind.  

"Eds?" He asked softly. 

Eddie looked up and over his shoulder at Richie, face ashen except for high spots of color in his cheeks. The pain in his eyes was worse than anything Richie had ever seen, except for maybe what Richie had found lying at the end of a blood trail last week.  

"Don't you ever fucking knock, Richie?" Eddie mumbled, tone just as anguished as his eyes. "Go away."  

Richie ignored Eddie's words, instead moving to sit beside the smaller boy. He didn't know how to fix what Mrs. Kaspbrak had done, but Richie knew he had to do something to help Eddie, had to take away the hurt overwhelming the light usually found in Eddie's soft brown eyes.  

Eddie turned away, burying his face in his pillow again. Richie wanted to cry at the defeat in Eddie's every move; he hadn't even bothered telling Richie off for busting into his room, something Eddie _always_ did.   

Before Richie could think about it, he lifted his hand to Eddie's dark hair, gently carding through the soft— _oh so soft_ —locks. Eddie gave no noticeable reaction, so Richie continued stroking the smaller boy's hair, watching as the sunlight peeking through the window spun strands of gold through Eddie's curls. His heart hurt a little at the sweetness of it.  

Richie let his hand trail down from the soft curls at the back of Eddie's head to the soft skin of the smaller boy's neck, his fingers tracing careful patterns. Part of Richie wondered how it could possibly be okay to touch your stepbrother like this, but Eddie didn't seem to be complaining. In fact, Eddie seemed to have relaxed somewhat at the touch, the smaller boy loosening the death grip on the pillow. Richie savored the warmth of Eddie's skin before his fingers wandered down Eddie's spine, tracing the first few knobs of bone through the smaller boy's thin shirt.   

Eddie shivered a little at the touch, and a wave of guilt crashed over Richie. He shouldn't be fucking... _caressing_ Eddie like this. What was _wrong_ with him?  

Richie's hand froze as Eddie slowly sat up, resting against Eddie's shoulder as the smaller boy tucked his legs under him. Eddie didn't look at Richie, instead staring blankly at the floor.  

"Eds?" Richie murmured.  

Silence. 

Richie looked down as Eddie's rough cast brushed against his arm, and his eyes landed on the insult scrawled over the white material.  

And an idea formed. 

He stood, leaving Eddie perched on the bed as he walked over to Eddie's desk, looking through the writing utensils stacked in the corner until he found a red sharpie.  

Eddie was still staring at the floor when Richie returned to sit beside him, and he made no protest when Richie gently pulled the smaller boy's broken arm into his lap. Richie pulled the cap off the marker and got to work.  

***  

Eddie knew Richie was writing on his cast, but he didn't care. Richie was probably drawing dick pictures to go around Greta's message. 

Part of him wished Richie would go back to stroking his hair. He'd liked that. A lot.  

But that was the whole problem, wasn't it? It was because he'd rather have someone like Richie touching him than someone like Beverly that his mother had become convinced that he was sicker than he already was. And maybe he _was_ sick. Maybe his mother was right.   

"There," Richie said after a moment. 

Eddie looked down, prepared to see all manner of crude messages, but instead his eyes lighted on the bold red "V" embedded over the "S" of Greta's written " _LOSER_."  

 _Lover_.  

Eddie gaped, struck silent at the new word Richie had bestowed on his arm. As he stared, the badness of before seemed to float away, replaced by a glowing warmth in his chest that spread until he was burning all over in the best way, a million butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes, but they weren't the dangerous ones. No, they were the soft ones that felt like a fairy's gossamer wings brushing over his eyes.  

In that moment, he knew he loved Richie. He knew he'd never be able to _not_ love Richie. 

Richie, oblivious to everything, simply smiled at him in that cheeky, toothy way of his.  

And Eddie smiled back, forcing back the pain in his heart to cradle this one special moment where he could pretend Richie was his and he was Richie's.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created a Spotify playlist to go along with this story. If you listen hard, you might be able to guess where things are going. ;) You can find it [here](http://reddieinthestars.tumblr.com/post/166608296062/reddieinthestars-richie-tozier-x-eddie-kaspbrak).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be spanning the years from 1989-1994. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Rating will change as well.
> 
> I will be posting this on Tumblr—as well as my usual Reddie spam. Feel free to come say hi! [reddieinthestars.tumblr.com](http://reddieinthestars.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

**_December 1991_ **  

"Happy birthday, Eds!"  

Eddie looked up as Richie came bounding into his bedroom, wincing as Richie shouted the words. The other boy looked fit to burst at the seams with energy, as per usual—freckled cheeks pulled in a wide grin and brown eyes huge behind coke-bottle glasses.  

Richie also had a raging case of bedhead, dark curls smashed on one side and sticking straight up on the other. Eddie smiled at the cuteness of it. 

"My birthday isn't until next week, dipshit," he muttered, face a little red from the attention. 

"So? Gotta celebrate turning fifteen for as long as fucking possible, babe," Richie said with a wink, laughing as Eddie rolled his eyes. "Ah, my sweet baby brother is soon to become a man. How quickly they grow."  

"Oh god, shut up," Eddie groaned. "I'm only two months younger than you." 

"And _I'm_ two months wiser than you." 

"You and 'wise' in the same sentence? Scandalous," Eddie deadpanned.  

"Eddie Spaghetti gets off a good one!" 

"Ugh, don't call me that." 

"Should I call you Eddie Bear instead?" 

Richie cackled at Eddie's murderous expression, racing out of the room as Eddie threw his shoe at Richie's retreating back.  

Eddie slowly got ready for school after that, pulling on a polo and jeans along with a gray hoodie he'd stolen from Richie at some point. He sighed, running a hand through his tousled curls. He knew his mother hated his hair; her angry looks at it made him never want to have a haircut again.  

Things had been tense between he and his mother since she had ordered him to see Doctor Pelletier back in September for his _homosexuality problem_. Since then he'd had visits with the psychologist once a month—painfully humiliating sessions where Doctor Pelletier would ask all sorts of questions about _sexuality_ and _masturbation_ and _who he thought about when he felt aroused_ and _why such thoughts were abnormal_.  

Sometimes Eddie simply refused to answer a question, sitting sullenly and wondering how his mother thought this would actually help with anything.   

School hadn't been much better. Word had spread like wildfire that Eddie Kaspbrak was gay. He'd only gotten sneers and verbal jabs while he healed from Henry Bowers's attack. After that, people had taken to shoving him into and sometimes inside of lockers, tripping him in the hallway, stealing his backpack to rip up his homework and books, and writing messages like _fucking fag_ and _Kaspbrak_ _eats dick_ on his locker door.  

Of course, the Losers' Club tried to stick by his side as much as possible, especially Richie. But they couldn't be everywhere at once.  

Eddie sighed again, grabbing his backpack and heading downstairs. Richie was waiting by the front door, humming. The other boy seemed to perk up a bit at Eddie's approach, smiling in that way that gave Eddie butterflies every time without fail. He noticed Richie's eyes running along Eddie's hoodie. 

"Looks better on you anyway, Eds," Richie said.  

Heat rose in Eddie's cheeks, but before he could respond, his mother's voice floated out of the living room. "Eddie Bear? Come here. I wanted to talk to you before you left for school." 

Richie's grin grew impossibly wider at Mrs. Kaspbrak's words. "Eddie Bear," he whispered, positively gleeful.   

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie snapped back in a hushed voice as he turned into the living room where his mother sat watching television.  

"Yes, Mommy?" he asked, playing with the hem of his hoodie. 

"I spoke with Doctor Pelletier after your appointment on Tuesday. He said you've been a bit.... _resistant_ to his help. Can you tell me why that is, Eddie?" 

Eddie's mouth opened and closed for a moment. He wanted to tell his mother what he thought of Doctor Pelletier's _treatment_...but the words wouldn't come. And even if he did say something, he already knew Mrs. Kaspbrak wouldn't listen. She never did. 

"I don't know," he whispered. 

She nodded. "Sometimes sicknesses make us do strange things, sweetie. I understand."  

Fiery rage licked up Eddie's insides, and he clenched his fists. But he said nothing. 

"I spoke with Doctor Pelletier's colleague, Doctor Ouellette—a psychiatrist. He recommended some medication that will help you." 

 _More medicine?_  

Mrs. Kaspbrak picked up a bottle of innocuous bottle of white pills sitting on the table next to her armchair. She opened the bottle and shook out one of the pills onto her thick palm before holding it out to Eddie along with a glass of water she must have already poured in anticipation of this moment. 

Eddie's limbs felt like they had weights tied to them as he stepped toward his mother. It was as though he could see his body moving but felt disconnected from the actions. As though he were standing on the sideline watching as a mute participant. 

He held out his shaking hand, and Mrs. Kaspbrak placed the pill on his palm. With his other hand, he accepted the glass of water. Time seemed to slow as Eddie looked from his mother to the pill to the water and back to his mother. 

" _Now_ , Edward," Mrs. Kaspbrak said shortly.   

"What will the pills do?" he asked.  

"They'll help your sickness. _Take your medicine_." 

Eddie hesitated a moment longer before popping the pill in his mouth and swallowing it down with a mouthful of water.  

"Good boy," his mother said, beaming. 

He wanted to be sick. 

"Now," she said, handing him the pill bottle. "You're to take these once a day. Doctor Ouellette said it will take a few weeks before you'll notice any changes. You may notice some side effects sooner, but Doctor Ouellete said they're nothing to worry about." 

Eddie nodded, opening his fanny pack with numb fingers to shove the new medication inside. He turned to leave, but before he could, his mother spoke again. 

"Aren't you forgetting something, Eddie Bear?" 

He froze for a moment before turning around and walking back toward Mrs. Kaspbrak. He leaned down and pecked her rouged cheek.  

"Thank you, Mommy," he whispered before turning and heading dazedly toward the door where Richie still stood waiting. 

Concern colored Richie's eyes as Eddie stepped back into the entryway. Richie's mouth opened to say something, but Eddie shook his head, not wanting to talk about what Richie had no doubt overheard. Richie had already witnessed one of Eddie's breakdowns. He didn't care to repeat the experience, even if the last one had ended with Richie changing Greta Keene's nasty message on his cast to _LOVER_ , a word that Eddie knew meant more to him than it did to Richie. 

*** 

Richie watched Eddie out of the corner of his eye as they biked to school. Eddie's face was paler than usual, eyes half-lidded and brows furrowed. Sadness seemed to be hanging from every feature of the smaller boy's face. Richie wished he knew how to make it better. He could only hope that the surprise he and the other Losers had planned for Eddie's birthday would bring that sweet smile back to Eddie's pretty face. 

Their friends stood waiting for them by the bike rack. 

"Hello, losers!" Richie crowed.  

His friends looked at him, some rolling their eyes. 

"You guys are later than usual," Ben said, peering at Richie but mostly at Eddie with concern. 

"My mom needed something," Eddie said, speaking for the first time since leaving the Tozier-Kaspbrak house.  

Richie glanced at Beverly, the only other Loser whom he had told the complete truth about what had happened with Eddie's mom in September. Her lip was curled in a little moue, nose scrunched in that way she had when she found something displeasing. She looked back at Richie and raised a brow at him. 

"Are you r-ready for Saturday?" Bill asked, smiling at Eddie. 

"I guess," Eddie muttered. "You guys won't tell me what we're doing." 

"No sirree," Mike said. "It's a surprise." 

"I hate surprises," Eddie whined. 

"Too bad, so sad," Mike replied, chuckling as Eddie pouted at him. 

"Just meet us at the last bus stop on Main Street at one o'clock," Stan said. "You're in charge of getting him there," he continued, pointing at Richie. 

"Of course, of course, Stan the Man," Richie said, grinning at Stan's usual grimace at the nickname. "I shall deliver the lovely, innocent Eds to the bus stop and shall defend him from hooligans after his sweet, sweet virtue along the way." 

"Beep beep, Richie," Eddie said, spluttering a little as his cheeks turned red. 

The others laughed.  

*** 

Saturday, the fourteenth of December, dawned beautiful and crisp. More snow had fallen overnight, a soft white blanket that seemed to leave the world in a hush. Icicles hung from the eaves of all the houses and weighted down the limbs of the barren trees. Every once in a while, you could hear the soft thump of snow sliding down in a heap from one of the pines lining the road where the Tozier-Kaspbrak home stood.  

Eddie looked out at the snow with a frown as he sat at the kitchen table eating cereal alongside Richie.  

"Aw, why the long face, Eds?" Richie asked. "Today's going to be fucking amazing!"  

"Shush!" Eddie snapped. "My mom could hear you. And I'm annoyed because it's _cold_. I _hate_ cold."  

"I can't believe you're from Maine, and I'm from Cali," Richie said with a chuckle.  

"Definitely a mystery," Eddie agreed. While Eddie did find snow beautiful, he never enjoyed being cold; once he was chilly, he could never seem to warm up again. Unlike Richie, who radiated warmth and was endlessly dazzled by Maine's frozen winters.  

The two passed the day mostly side by side—playing games, reading comics, listening to Richie's boombox. The time seemed to pass in slow motion, which Eddie knew was because he was anxious to know what his friends had planned for him.  

Eddie tried a few times to get Richie to spill what was happening, but every time, Richie would purse his lips, shake his head, and tell Eddie that "the beautiful birthday boy had to wait."  

And then Richie would grin, and Eddie would stop himself from punching his stupid, gorgeous stepbrother in the face. 

When it was half past twelve and Eddie was about to pull his hair out from anticipation, Richie finally told him to get ready to go. 

"Finally!" Eddie burst out, jumping to his feet as Richie laughed.  

"I'll meet you downstairs," Richie said. "I have to grab something real quick." With that, he ran out of Eddie's room. 

Eddie listened to Richie crashing around in Richie's room for a moment before he tugged on his boots, a jacket, and a scarf along with a hat and gloves, figuring he may as well avoid his mother ordering him to put on more layers. Then he headed downstairs to wait by the door.  

He could hear the television in the living room and knew if he turned around, he'd see his mother reclining in her usual armchair, bloated legs kicked out and curly hair sticking to the sweat always gathered around her temples and neck. Eddie prayed she wouldn't say anything, just this once. He just wanted one day to enjoy his birthday without dissolving into worry and desperation. 

But of course, Eddie Kaspbrak never seemed to get what he wanted. 

"Sweetie, have you taken your medicine today?" 

Eddie pressed his eyes closed. He hadn't missed a dose of the little white pills Mrs. Kaspbrak had handed him the other day, too nervous that she would insist on counting the pills remaining in the bottle. He knew he could toss the medicine....but somehow, he just couldn't. Eddie hadn't perceived any differences for the first couple of days, but then he began noticing that when he took his medication, he often felt woozy afterward. Last night, he'd had a nose bleed, which had never happened before. 

Whatever medicine Doctor Ouelette had recommended, it was potent.    

Eddie turned to see his mother sitting exactly as he'd expected, filing her nails and looking at him expectantly.  

"Yes, ma. I did," he said. 

"Very good, Edward," she said. "And have you noticed any... _changes_ _?_ " 

He briefly considered telling her about the strange way he'd been feeling but thought better of it. "Not yet."  

"Alright, darling. Just be patient." 

Eddie forced himself to nod before flipping back around just as Richie came bounding down the stairs, dressed in a hoodie and jacket combo and boots. Strangely, Richie was also wearing a backpack. 

"Don’t you have any gloves?" Eddie asked. "Your hands are going to freeze." 

"I'll be fine, Eds. You can keep me warm." 

Eddie sighed at both the nickname and Richie's idiocy but still felt a blush rise to his cheeks. "Whatever," he muttered, ignoring Richie's smirk. "Let's go." 

***  

"You made it!" Beverly cried as Eddie and Richie neared the last bus stop on Main Street. She ran up to Eddie and tugged him into a hug. "Happy birthday, Eddie!"  

"Thanks, Bevvie," Eddie said, unable to stop his smile.  

The others whooped and cheered around him, Bill and Stan clapping Eddie on the back and Ben and Mike joining in with Beverly in her hug. Eddie noticed all of them were wearing backpacks, but before he could ask why, Mike lifted him off his feet and spun him around. 

"Put me down!" he shouted, giggling.  

"You may be fifteen, Kaspbrak, but you're still tiny enough for this," Mike replied, laughing in that deep, warm way that always made Eddie feel at peace, as though the gears in his head could stop _spinning_ _spinning_ _spinning_ for just a few seconds. 

"Aw, how come you laugh when Mike spins you, but you hit me when I do it?" Richie asked. 

"Because I hate you," Eddie said cheerfully as Mike placed him back on the ground. 

"You wound me, Eds. Wounded!" 

The Losers led Eddie away from the bus stop toward an older development off of Main Street. Before Eddie could focus on what the signs said, Richie came up behind him and suddenly Richie's hands were blocking his eyesight. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" Eddie snapped, strangely warm at the cool fingers pressed against his skin. He could smell the soap Richie must have washed with, a clean undercurrent to the smoky scent Eddie was used to. He wondered vaguely if Richie's skin would have the same taste, but he pushed the thought away before it could go any further. 

"It's a surprise, Eddie dearest," Richie said. "Now, close your eyes." 

Eddie wanted to protest, but he found himself doing as Richie asked, keeping his eyes closed when Richie's hands left his face.  

Richie took Eddie by the shoulders and gently pushed the smaller boy forward. Eddie could hear the giggles and whispers of his friends around him, but he focused on the sound of Richie's footsteps in tune with his own.   

After several feet, Richie pulled Eddie to a stop.  

"All right, birthday boy. Here we go!" 

Suddenly Richie's hands were gone, and Eddie was left looking at a frozen pond with a banner tacked between the trees that read "Ice Skating!".  

Eddie's eyes widened as he watched other teens and kids laughing and whooping as they skated on the icy surface of the pond. He turned to look at the other Losers, all of whom were beaming at him. 

"Happy birthday!" they all shouted.  

"Guys, this is awesome," Eddie whispered. 

"I've never skated before," Richie said. "So you're gonna have to show me how it's done, Eddie Spaghetti." He reached into his backpack and pulled out two pairs of skates—Eddie's old pair and a set Eddie hadn't seen before. Richie must have bought skates and then gone through Eddie's closet to find the smaller boy's pair.  

Eddie looked at the skates and then up at Richie with a grin. He vaguely noticed the rest of his friends pulling out their skates from their bags, but he only had eyes for Richie, who gazed down at him with sparkling eyes, a pleased flush decorating the taller boy's cheeks.  

Before Eddie could think about what he was doing, he grabbed Richie's hand and dragged Richie down to the edge of the pond, both of them laughing loudly and freely as they went. Their friends followed, each of them pausing for a few minutes to tug on their skates before pushing off onto the ice. 

"I was serious when I said I've never done this before," Richie said, looking a little nervously at the ice as he stood in the snow gathered at the shore of the pond, watching Eddie already turning in graceful circles. 

Eddie grinned and took Richie's hand again. "I'll show you. It's not hard, I promise." 

He pulled Richie out onto the ice, positioning them so they were standing side by side. 

"You're on the ice," Eddie said. "You've already got the first step down." 

"Thanks, Professor Kaspbrak. I'm sure I'll be ready for the Olympics in no time under your fine tutelage," Richie said, eyes twinkling. 

"Whatever, dipshit," Eddie muttered. "Come on."  

Eddie led Richie forward in a series of small steps, directing the taller boy to bend his knees and keep his toes pointed outward. Richie was a quick study, only stumbling a few times before he was gliding beside Eddie. 

"There you go," Eddie said, grinning at the sight of Richie's lanky body smoothly crossing the frozen water beneath them. Richie's hand felt warm in his, even without a glove. 

"Looking good, Tozier," Beverly said as she and Ben skated by, clasping each other's hands. She seemed especially pleased about something, but Eddie couldn't guess what. 

"Not that b-bad, huh?" Bill asked from behind Richie. He skated up beside them, Stan and Mike following. Mike looked surprisingly nimble on the ice, despite Mike's tall stature, but Stan seemed warier of the situation. 

"You okay, Stanny boy?" Richie asked. 

"I just prefer solid dirt under my feet," Stan said with a shrug, hair looking extra curly under a knit cap tugged over the top of his head. 

"Well, I think the view is better here," Richie said, glancing over at Eddie with a small smile.  

Eddie opened his mouth to reply but shut it with no words escaping as Richie's eyes stayed locked with his. Some sort of charge seemed to run between their gazes, tugging the two together. Warmth licked at Eddie's insides, pooling in his belly. His mouth dried, and he licked at his lips, flushing as Richie glanced down at his tongue for a split second before looking back into Eddie's eyes.  

The sound of his other friends faded into the background, and Eddie felt like he could bite down and taste the heat wafting between Richie and him. Eddie wasn't sure what was happening, but in his mind, he saw himself pulling Richie down for a kiss. He felt his cheeks turn an even deeper red, and he hurriedly turned away, not wanting to follow whatever path Richie's eyes were leading him on.  

After about thirty minutes of skating, a wave of dizziness swept through Eddie, and he wobbled, grabbing Richie's arm to regain his balance.   

Richie's eyes quickly became concerned. "You okay, Eds?" 

"I...think so. I—"   

Before Eddie could finish, the world tilted alarmingly, and he suddenly felt his knees hitting the ice as his legs buckled under him. The heat from before was gone, replaced by the horrid woozy feeling he recognized from his medication.  

But this was so much worse. His vision wouldn't correct, everything wavering around him. Eddie recognized the blurry figures of his friends gathering around him. He tasted bile and could feel something dribbling from his nose.  

"Shit! Eddie, you're bleeding!" Richie cried.  

"Ssssshhh," Eddie mumbled as he felt fingers brushing beneath his nose, Richie's voice pounding in his head. "Too l-l-loud..."  

"Oh my god, what's wrong with him?" Beverly asked, fear lacing her question. 

Eddie wanted to reassure her that he was okay, but he felt more like throwing up, so he kept his mouth shut, swaying slightly from side to side. 

"I don't know," Richie said. "I've never seen this happen."  

"Let's get him off the ice," Mike said. "He needs to sit down." 

There were murmurs of agreement before Eddie felt an arm come around his shoulder and another behind his knees, lifting him first to his feet and then up off the ice completely, bridal-style. 

"Just hang on, Eds," Richie whispered in his ear, and Eddie felt a little warmer at the idea of Richie carrying him, even if most of him felt like dying.  

Richie ferried Eddie off of the pond and placed the smaller boy on one of the benches set up around the perimeter. Eddie groaned at the movement, stomach roiling.  

He couldn't stop himself as he leaned over and threw up into the snow. A tender, ungloved hand brushed his sweaty curls away from his face, another rubbing his back in gentle circles. He threw up a few more times, hating the taste of sick coating his throat and hating the sound of himself choking on vomit. 

"It's okay, Eds," Richie murmured in his ear. "It's okay." 

"Nnnuuuuhhh," Eddie replied, sitting up enough to rest against the back of the bench. "It's the p-pills..." 

"What pills?" Ben asked from somewhere off to the side.  

Eddie shook his head; he couldn't talk without fear of throwing up even more. He wiped at the blood oozing from his nose.  

"The pills his mom gave him," Richie said darkly. "They're supposed to...'un-gay' him or something." 

"What the fuck?" Stan asked, horrified. 

"Well, they're clearly doing s-something else," Bill said sharply. "Eddie, you've got to stop taking them. These side effects aren't worth making your mom happy." 

Eddie felt a surge of anger at Bill's words, but he found the anger was mostly at himself. He was such a weakling. He was always just a problem for his friends, just something to be looked after. He couldn't defend himself from anything. Not from Henry Bowers, not from Greta Keene, not even from his own mom, who was apparently poisoning him with the blessing of the good Doctor Ouellette. He'd even managed to fuck up his own birthday surprise. 

 _Way to go,_ _Kaspbrak_ _._  

He must have been saying some of what he was thinking because suddenly arms were encircling him. "Hey, hey," Richie murmured. "You're not a burden, okay? We just want you to be okay." Even softer. "I just want you to be okay, babe."  

Eddie's lip trembled at Richie's words.  

"I think we'd better go home," Richie said. 

Eddie wanted to argue that he was okay, that he just needed to catch his breath, but he knew Richie was right.   

"I'm sorry, guys," he whispered. "I ruined everything."  

"Don’t you apologize," Beverly said fiercely. "It's not your fault your mom's a crazy bitch." 

"I agree," Ben said. "I don't usually call anybody's mom a bitch, but yours earns the name." 

"Come on, let's help Richie get Eddie home," Bill said. Mike and Stan quickly agreed. 

***  

Eddie had tried to get up and walk, but that had gone horribly, so Richie had pulled him up on the taller boy's back piggyback-style and carried him home. The other Losers went with them all the way to the Tozier-Kaspbrak house.  

As they walked, snow began to fall in a silent curtain, leaving the teenagers adorned with soft white flakes. Richie felt Eddie turn his head on Richie's shoulder to let the drifting snow alight on his face. Eddie sighed quietly. 

"Does that feel good, sweetheart?" Richie murmured, so quietly that only Eddie would be able to hear him.  

Eddie nodded absently, seemingly too far gone in his illness to notice Richie's pet name. 

When the group made it to Eddie and Richie's home, Richie was grateful to see neither his father's car nor Mrs. Kaspbrak's— _especially hers_ —in the driveway.   

"You sure you don't need help with him?" Beverly asked as the Losers gathered on the porch. 

"No, I've got it," Richie said. "First thing I'm going to do is chuck those fucking pills right out the window." 

"No, first thing you need to do is put Eddie to bed," Mike said slowly. 

"...I'm drop-kicking the pills second then. Stan, can you open the door for me? My key is in my left jacket pocket." 

Stan nodded and reached inside Richie's pocket. 

"Gee, baby, ain't you at least gonna buy me a drink first?" Richie asked as Stan did so. 

"Shut up, Richie," Stan snapped, pulling the key out and shoving it inside the door's lock.  

"My man is so rough," Richie sighed. 

"Your m-man is going to beat the shit out of you if you don't shut up," Bill said, chuckling as Stan glared at him.  

Stan pushed the door open and handed the key back to Richie. 

"You sure you guys are going to be okay?" Mike asked.  

Richie nodded. The other Losers bid them a goodbye as he stepped inside and closed the door.   

"All right, Eds," Richie said. "Here we go." He began climbing the stairs, still gripping Eddie tightly. "Do you want to take a bath first, or do you want to go to sleep?"  

"B-bath," Eddie said after a moment, shivering. 

Richie gulped slightly at the word, instantly picturing Eddie naked and then inwardly punching himself for thinking such a thing when Eddie was in such bad shape. His overactive imagination was a fucking curse sometimes. 

He took Eddie into the bathroom, gently settling the smaller boy on top of the closed toilet. Richie turned around to get a better look at Eddie, and his heart plummeted.   

Eddie looked awful. His skin was so pale, his freckles stood out like someone had drawn on his skin with black marker. Blood was crusted under his nose, and his soft brown curls stuck to the sweat dripping down his face and neck. His eyes were shut tightly as he breathed, wheezing a bit.  

Richie leaned over the tub and turned on the water, making sure it was warm and soothing, before turning back to Eddie, who was watching him with barely open eyes.  

"Okay, let's get you in the bath," Richie said. He felt like crying for some reason, not fully understanding why.  

He reached forward and pulled off Eddie's hat, scarf, gloves, and fanny pack, placing them on the counter. Then he tugged off Eddie's coat and shoes, leaving the smaller boy in jeans and a polo shirt.  

Richie brought Eddie's small feet into his lap to remove Eddie's socks, gently brushing his fingers against Eddie's slim ankle and the curve of the smaller boy's instep.   

Still Eddie watched him, saying nothing. 

Richie stood. "Do you need help with the rest?" 

Eddie sat still for a moment before attempting to pull his shirt over his head. He was able to lift his arms to chest level before they dropped to his sides like weights.  

"I-I can't," Eddie said. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel so...so weak..." 

Richie's heart constricted as he saw tears leaking down Eddie's cheeks. He leaned down to pull Eddie's shirt off, but before he could, Eddie's arms came around his waist.  

"I'm sorry," Eddie whispered. 

"What on earth are you sorry for?" Richie asked, hand curving around the back of Eddie's head to gently bring it against his chest. He gently scraped the nails of one hand up Eddie's neck, and the smaller boy shivered.  

"I ruin everything," Eddie said, chest hitching a little. "I can't even be normal for my birthday." 

"Eds, you can't help having a bad reaction to those nasty pills your mom fucking _made_ you take. And what do you mean you're not _normal?_ " 

"I'm gay," Eddie said, as though that explained everything.  

"So?" Richie asked. "There's nothing wrong with that." 

"That's not what my mom thinks." 

"Yeah, well your mom is fucking stupid." 

Eddie said nothing. 

"And you know what?" Richie continued. "I..." He trailed off, hesitating. He imagined he knew a little of how Eddie felt in the hospital back in September. Richie ran his fingers through Eddie's curls, calming the sudden racing of his heart. "I like guys too." 

A moment passed before Eddie leaned back, eyes glassy as he attempted to focus on Richie. "What?" he asked, confused. 

"I mean, I like girls too. I like both. Boys and girls," Richie said.  

Eddie stared at Richie for a moment before a soft smile graced his face. "Thanks for telling me," he murmured.  

Richie found himself blushing under Eddie's suddenly sharpened gaze. He reached over and turned off the water. "Y-yeah. Come on, into the tub."   

"Okay." 

Richie helped Eddie strip out of his shirt, pants, and then boxers. He tried desperately to focus on anything but the fact that he had a naked Eddie Kaspbrak in his arms. He helped Eddie step into the tub, keeping his eyes on Eddie's feverish face. Richie glanced down as he lowered Eddie to sit in the water, catching a glimpse of freckled skin and long legs before looking away again, face and neck so hot that Richie wondered if he was about to spontaneously combust. His lower body was also being less than cooperative, but Eddie didn't seem to notice anything.  

For the second time that day, Richie wanted to murder himself for thinking anything but pure thoughts for his sick stepbrother. 

To distract himself, Richie snatched Eddie's fanny pack off the counter, and the tugged the zippered pouch open. Inside he found Eddie's usual pills, bandages, and disinfectants along with another prescription bottle. Richie pulled out the bottle and looked at the label, unable to understand what the hell these "anti-gayness" pills were. The prescription was given by Doctor Ouellette. 

He glanced back at Eddie, who was leaning against the back of the tub. He smiled slightly at the sight of Eddie's freckled shoulders.  

"Eds, you have to stop taking these," Richie said. 

Eddie's eyes opened to look at Richie. "What am I going to tell my mom?"  

"Just pretend you're taking them. Flush one every day. She won't know."  

Eddie seemed to tremble a little.  

"I know telling your mom to shove it isn't easy," Richie said. "But these pills are literally fucking _killing you_ , Eddie." 

Eddie nodded. "You're right," he whispered. He paused. "I know my mom is trying to help me. I just wish..." He sighed. "I just wish," he repeated simply.

"I know," Richie said.   

When Eddie finished his bath, Richie helped him towel off and get dressed in an oversized t-shirt—one of Richie's—and a loose pair of boxers.   

Richie had an arm around Eddie's shoulders as they walked to Eddie's bedroom. He pulled the sheets back and helped Eddie up into the bed. As he went to step back, Eddie enveloped him in another hug. Richie hugged Eddie back as tightly as he dared, breathing in that familiar scent of lavender soap, almost tasting the sweetness of it.  

"Thanks for everything, Rich," Eddie whispered. "Thanks for...trusting me." 

"I'd trust you with my life, Eds," Richie said, blushing a little. "Now go to sleep." 

"Will you stay?"  

Richie blinked. "Do you want me to?" 

Eddie nodded against his chest. "Please." 

Warmth rose in Richie's chest, suffusing him until he felt nothing else. He tugged Eddie's desk chair over so he could sit beside the bed.  

Eddie watched the taller boy, the shadows under his eyes so deep, he looked bruised.  

"I'm here," Richie murmured. "Go to sleep." 

Eddie's eyes finally closed, and he fell asleep within moments.   

Richie could see through the window that snow was still falling outside, heavier and darker now, turning Derry into a harsh world of wintry white. He found himself thinking that if he could just see Eddie's sweet face forever, relaxed in sleep, mouth slightly open, he'd never feel cold again. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be spanning the years from 1989-1994. Tags will be updated as chapters are added. Rating will change as well.
> 
> Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates! And to those who don't, I hope you had a lovely day! :)

**_November_ ** **_1992_ **  

_Plink_. 

Eddie watched as the white pill dropped with the tiniest of splashes into the water of the toilet bowl and then disappeared like it had never existed as he flushed it away.  

He sighed as he looked up to his reflection in the mirror, lips curved in a small moue. His curls had grown longer over the summer, resting softly against the top of his ears and back of his neck, and his color had returned with a healthy glow. The nosebleeds had stopped several days after Eddie had started flushing the pills Doctor Oullette had prescribed him almost a year ago. His mother had been none the wiser thus far, a fact for which Eddie was extremely grateful.  

Wentworth had mostly stayed out of the affair, but the smiles and hugs his stepfather would give him made Eddie feel a little better, despite his mother's point-blank refusal to accept his sexuality. His pleas to stop the appointments with Doctor Pelletier had fallen on deaf ears. Eddie didn't dare skip the monthly visits, as the doctor would tell his mother and Eddie would probably end up being forced to choke down even more medicine designed to poison him from the inside out. Maybe even be subjected to electro-shock therapy. He didn't want to believe his mother would do such a thing to him, but as of late, Eddie had no idea what lengths to which she'd go to hold on to the delusion that his homosexuality was a curable illness. 

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair as he turned and exited the bathroom, grabbing his backpack in the hallway and heading down the stairs. Richie waited for him at the bottom, grinning in that excited way Richie always had.   

"Well, finally!" Richie said. "Thought you got your ass stuck in the toilet again." 

"Fuck off," Eddie snipped, shoving Richie out of the way to get to the door.  

"Eddie dear!" Mrs. Kaspbrak called from the living room. "Don't forget to pick up your prescriptions after school!" 

"I will, Ma!" Eddie yelled back before heading out the door. 

"It's okay, Eds," Richie said, following Eddie to where their bikes lay discarded on the front lawn and continuing his comment before like there had been no interruption. "You don't need to be embarrassed about your ass. I mean, have you seen your mom's—" 

"Beep beep, Richie," Eddie said, hurriedly cutting off whatever was about to come out of Richie's mouth. Richie just laughed, smiling at Eddie as he zoomed past on his bike before Richie began to ride in a lazy circle.  

Eddie couldn't really blame his stepbrother. The weather, while still cold, had strangely warmed a bit before the crushing chill of winter set in. The air held a note of coming change, that pungent smell of autumn fading somewhat beneath the snowy blanket heading their way. Eddie breathed in deeply, basking a little. The sun shone brightly on the two boys' faces, lighting up their eyes and hearts.  

He glanced over at Richie, who was yammering on and on about something or other. Eddie watched how the sunshine curled through Richie's hair, making the dark spirals look glossy and fine. How it glinted off of Richie's glasses and shone in those dark eyes, bringing out Richie's long lashes and freckles in sweet clarity.  

Eddie smiled at the sight. He couldn't help it. 

In the past months, Richie had been the one constant through everything—telling Eddie there was nothing wrong with being gay, carrying Eddie home after those pills had make Eddie so sick last year, confessing the truth of his own sexuality. 

Warmth crawled through Eddie's stomach as he considered this, as it always did. Because if Richie liked boys too, then maybe... 

He shook his head, shutting down the train of thought before it could leave the station. Eddie knew he couldn’t hold on to the hope that anything would happen between them, not now and not ever. They were stepbrothers. It just...it just wasn't done. They weren't blood related, no, but that didn't make it okay. Even if Eddie wanted nothing more than to be with Richie, to be held in those lean, wiry arms and be held in return, to see if Richie's mouth tasted the same as Richie smelled—of bubblegum and cigarettes....it could never happen. 

No matter how much Eddie wished it would. 

***  

Eddie no longer felt any surprise when he saw the graffiti scrawled across his locker.  

_FAGGOT_. 

But that didn't stop it from hurting. Every single time.  

"When are these assholes going to give it up?" Stan muttered next to him. Stan and Bill always walked with Eddie to his locker at the end of the day, where Richie would meet up with him before they biked home. At first Eddie had disliked having his friends hover over him after the...incident...with Henry Bowers, but he'd grown to accept it. Henry Bowers—among others—still harassed him, of course, but the situation rarely grew violent if Eddie wasn't alone.  

"I swear to God, if I f-find one of the people d-doing this..." Bill said, trailing off with a dark expression.  

Eddie silently reached into his backpack and pulled out the cloth and bottle of cleaner he kept shoved in there for this purpose.   

The cloth had been used several times already since he'd washed it a couple of weeks ago. 

He had just sprayed his locker and begun wiping it when he heard Richie's boisterous voice echoing down the hallway. 

"Hey ho, boyos! Such fine specimens awaiting me on this autumnal day!" 

Stan sighed. "Hello, Richie."  

Richie opened his mouth to reply, but his mouth closed when he saw what Eddie was doing. All at once his cheerful expression slipped off his face, replaced with a scowl.  

"Whoever is doing this is going to get killed," Richie nearly barked. " _By me_ ," he added, as though he needed to make clear who would be committing the murder. 

"I'll help," Bill said. Richie looked at him in surprise, as did Eddie. 

"Me too," Stan said. 

"Guys," Eddie started, but Bill shook his head.  

"This shit is not okay," Bill said. With that, he took the cloth from Eddie's loosely fisted hand and began wiping down Eddie's locker.  

"Bill, I can do it," Eddie protested, trying to grab for the cloth.  

But Bill, who was several inches taller, easy evaded Eddie's reach and continued wiping. 

"Just let him do it," Stan murmured, gently patting Eddie's shoulder. 

Eddie sighed, arms dropping to his sides. He hated feeling useless, as though his friends had to do everything for him. He remembered that horrid sensation of being unable to even _move_ when he'd collapsed at his birthday celebration last year, how Richie had been forced to carry Eddie home because Eddie couldn't have walked if he'd tried. While he had secretly loved the warmth and security of having Richie's arms around him, he hated being so...so _weak_. 

As though called by Eddie's thoughts, a thin, wiry arm wrapped around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly to Richie's side. Eddie blinked, looking up at Richie's face, at those familiar sparkling brown eyes magnified by those equally familiar thick glasses. With Richie this close, he could feel Richie's warmth seeping into him, smell Richie's comforting scent. He inhaled deeply. 

Richie had hit another growth spurt over the last year, quickly gaining a few more inches over Eddie, who stood at about five foot six while Richie had cleared six feet by an inch or so. Richie had quickly become the tallest of the Losers save for Bill, who had a couple of inches on him.  

For Eddie, seeing Richie standing over him made him feel as though a wall stood between him and all the horrible students at this school who wanted to make him feel less than human. A wall with glasses and a smile that always sweetened for Eddie.   

"You okay?" Richie asked, searching Eddie's eyes. 

For what, Eddie didn't know. 

"Yeah," Eddie muttered. "It's just the same stupid shit." He swallowed hard at the look of knowing in Richie's eyes, blinking rapidly. 

Richie nodded. "Fuck 'em, Eds. They're not worth even one of your precious thoughts," he said, squeezing Eddie even tighter. 

Eddie nodded, looking down at his feet. When Richie looked over at Stan to say something, he let himself smile. 

*** 

"I'll just be a minute," Eddie said to Richie as they walked into the Center Street Drug Store. 

"Yeah, yeah, go get your tampons," Richie said before wandering off to peruse the games and magazines to the right.  

"Fuck you," Eddie said to Richie's retreating back.   

Richie flipped Eddie off over his shoulder; Eddie let out a small giggle before turning right to head to the pharmacy counter.   

Mr. Keene saw Eddie coming and smiled in that slightly bemused way he always had. "Here for the refills, Eddie?" he asked.  

"Uh uh," Eddie said, toying with his watch. Mr. Keene always made him a little uncomfortable, as though the man were keeping some sort of secret. 

"Listen, Eddie..." Mr. Keene trailed off, glancing around as though afraid someone would overhear. He sighed heavily before turning and opening the small door that let him and other employees behind the counter. "This has gone on long enough. Let's talk for a moment." 

Eddie blinked, staring at the open door and then back at Mr. Keene, unable to understand what was happening. "I...what?" he asked, uncertain. 

Mr. Keene gestured for Eddie to come through the door. "We'll talk in my office, Mr. Kaspbrak." 

Eddie wanted to protest, to ask for his pills and leave, but he found himself walking through the door and then following the man to the tiny office tucked in the back of the pharmacy. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Richie staring at him with evident confusion, but before Eddie could say anything, he'd been ushered inside the office and the door shut behind him. 

"Have a seat," Mr. Keene said, gesturing to an empty chair sitting in front of a cluttered desk, behind which he took a seat. The man's large, horn-rimmed glasses made him look older, more worn, thinning blond hair adding to the picture of a middle-aged man past his prime. His thick brows were furrowed as he gazed at Eddie, concern in his eyes.  

Eddie sat down in the proffered seat, not quite sure what was happening. Uneasiness rose inside him, pressing on his organs and bones until there was room for nothing else, his heart struggling to beat under the weight. The air had a medicinal smell that typically made Eddie feel calmer, but now it seemed to add to the strangeness of the moment—a situation where he wasn't quite sure what was normal anymore.  

It certainly wasn't normal to be sitting inside Mr. Keene's office instead of walking off with a fresh batch of pills and a refill for his inhaler.  

"How has your asthma been, Eddie?" Mr. Keene asked. 

"F-fine? I mean, I have my inhaler..." Eddie said, looking down at his lap.  

"And you use that whenever you're having an attack?" 

Eddie nodded, unconsciously resting a hand on his fanny pack.  

"And how about your new medication? How has that been going for you?" Mr. Keene continued, gazing intently at Eddie's face 

"It's fine," Eddie murmured, feeling his face redden under Mr. Keene's stare. He didn't dare admit that he hadn't been taking the pills for nearly as long as he'd had the prescription, only lasting about a week before the side effects had him collapsing with a nose bleed and nearly throwing up all over himself. If his friends hadn't been there...if Richie hadn't been there... He shuddered a little at the thought.  

"You're nearly sixteen, aren't you, son?" Mr. Keene asked. 

"Sixteen next month," Eddie said. 

"Then you're plenty old enough to know the truth about what's going on here."  

Mr. Keene opened a drawer of his desk and brought out what Eddie instantly recognized as his medication refills.  

"I know your mother will have a fit over what I'm about to tell you, but this nonsense has gone on long enough," Mr. Keene said, grimacing a little—no doubt at the thought of an angry Sonia Kaspbrak. He sighed. "Look, Eddie...be honest with me, will you, son? Have you been taking the medicine Doctor Oullette prescribed you?" 

Eddie reddened further, mouth opening and closing. After a moment, he gave a little shake of his head.  

"Good."  

Eddie's head snapped up, and he stared at Mr. Keene incredulously. "What?" 

"Did you have side effects?" 

"I...my nose starting bleeding a few times...and I threw up. I stopped taking them after a week or so," Eddie whispered.  

Mr. Keene nodded, unsurprised. "That medicine is dangerous, but since when does that psychiatrist listen to me? Absolute idiocy, to be prescribing a sexual suppressant to a growing boy." 

"Sexual suppressant?" Eddie repeated, lips numb.  

"Yes. They're hormones meant to suppress your sex drive. There aren't any medications that can change someone's sexuality; perhaps years of therapy could do it, but not medicine as of yet. For someone still going through puberty, the results could be disastrous." 

Eddie felt as though he were floating in some strange world where things no longer made any sense. The idea that Mr. Keene the pharmacist would be agreeing with him over his mother would have been ludicrous before this moment, but here they were. To think that the medication his mother had so easily given to him 

_(she had to have known the risks; she had to)_  

could have permanently harmed him nearly stole his remaining air away. And still that pressure—that pressure of the unknown—bore down on him, cementing him to his seat.  

He unzipped his fanny pack, pulling out his inhaler to take a quick puff. Mr. Keene watched him, lips pursed. 

"Eddie, have you ever heard of the term 'placebo'?"  

"No....what does 'placebo' mean?"  

Mr. Keene rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers together. "Sometimes medication isn't always for what's wrong with our bodies. Sometimes it's for what's wrong with our minds." He paused before continuing. "Why do you use your inhaler, Eddie?" 

Eddie frowned, confused. "Because I have asthma?" 

"And who told you that you have asthma?"  

Coldness began to seep inside Eddie's stomach. "My mom," he whispered.  

"Did a doctor confirm this for you?" 

"She...she said he did..." 

"And your other pills?" Mr. Keene asked. "What are those for?" 

"You're the pharmacist! You should know!" Eddie snapped, his fear morphing to a hot anger that he grasped to save himself from whatever was coming next—whatever thing was hurtling toward him to unhinge his life again. He felt a faint badness for speaking so sharply to Mr. Keene like that...but he also couldn't help but wonder why Mr. Keene was talking to him like this at all. 

_Grownups are the real monsters._  

"Yes," Mr. Keene agreed, so patiently that Eddie wanted to reach across the desk and strangle him. "But what are the pills for? As you understand it?" 

"I...I don't..." Eddie trailed off. "My mom said they help with my allergies...and stuff..." 

"What stuff?" 

"I don't know," Eddie whispered, suddenly wanting to cry. Wanting to be anywhere else but in this office with weird Mr. Keene, who leered after girls like Beverly and spawned Satan incarnations like Greta and who was now dissecting Eddie's medical history—a history that Eddie had thought he'd known. 

He knew nothing. 

"Eddie, you don't have asthma. You don't have allergies. There is nothing wrong with you except perhaps a weakness of the _mind_. You're anxious by nature—your asthma attacks are nothing of the sort. They're anxiety at work; the panic makes your lungs feel as though they're closing. It's a nervous tightening of the diaphragm, nothing more."  

A trembling had started in Eddie's limbs at the start of Mr. Keene's words and had now progressed to full-blown shaking. Despite the man's claims that he didn't have asthma, he felt like he couldn't breathe, like his lungs would never be able to expand enough for an actual breath. His mouth tasted stale, and he struggled to swallow. He took another puff of the inhaler still in his hand, ignoring Mr. Keene's somewhat amused glance at it. 

Eddie took a few deep breaths. Then, "You're saying my mom... _lied_ to me about all of this?"  

Mr. Keene sighed. "I don't pretend to understand Sonia's decisions. I know she is trying to help you, however misguided that help is." 

"If I don't need the medication, what have I been taking?"  

"The pills are tablets filled with sugar water. The asthma medicine is water with a dash of camphor to give it a medicinal taste." 

Eddie looked down at the inhaler still in his hand. It seemed to waver before him. 

"Doctor Handor is apparently too weak to stand up to your mother, so it falls to me to tell you the truth," Mr. Keene said.  

"But why?" Eddie whispered, looking up at Mr. Keene. 

"Because you are not sick. Whatever your mother may have told you, _you are not sick_." 

***  

Richie walked up to the pharmacy counter after Mr. Keene had closed the door behind him and Eddie, unsure what was happening. 

"Looking for your boyfriend?" 

He glanced over to see Greta Keene staring at him from the behind the pages of a magazine, eyes cold. She was perched on a chair behind the counter, clearly waiting to help anyone while Mr. Keene did...something with Eddie. 

"Oh hi, Greta," he drawled. "I didn't know it was meeting time for Bitches Anonymous. Looks like you're the only member at the moment, huh?" 

"Fuck off, trashmouth," Greta said, wide forehead creasing as she frowned. 

"How's sleeping with the whole football team going for you?" 

Greta threw her magazine to the side and stormed up to the counter. "Excuse me, you little bitch?" 

Richie snorted at the insult, considering he had several inches on Greta. "Oh nothing, nothing. All's good. Just... Remember how you thought it'd be a really good laugh to write 'loser' on Eddie's cast last year? You know, after he was nearly _killed_ by Henry Bowers?" 

Greta glared at him but didn't deny the accusation. 

"Well, Eds has been getting a lot of... _funny_ notes on his locker for the past while. Real _chuckalicious_ things. Know anything about that?" 

"Why the fuck would I know anything about Kaspbrak's locker?" Greta snapped. 

"Oh, I dunno, maybe because you're dating one of the football players and they seem to move in a pack? Thought I saw a can of spray paint with your boy a while ago." 

A red tint rose in Greta's cheeks. Before she could say anything, Richie grabbed her arm—not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to keep her from running for a moment. 

"If I ever find out you have something to do with that shit that keeps popping up on Eddie's stuff, you're the one who's gonna need to worry," Richie said in a low voice.  

Greta huffed, yanking her arm out of Richie's grasp. "You really are a little bitch for Kaspbrak, aren’t you?" 

"Oooooh, I'm the _biggest_ bitch for him," Richie said, laughing at Greta's enraged expression. "Size always did matter, and I'm the biggest in all the ways that count." 

"Fucking fag," Greta muttered. 

"Only when it comes to you, Greta dearest. Pretty sure I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last woman on earth." 

Greta's face grew so red, Richie momentarily wondered if she would explode. _Would serve her right_ , he thought bitterly. He could still see Eddie's face, red-eyed and pale, after Greta had left her nasty message on his cast last year. What he wouldn't give to go back in time and somehow save Eddie from going through that, from ever being beaten so badly by Bowers in the first place. The continued slurs on Eddie's locker were just the icing on the fucking cake.  

But before Greta could respond, the office door swung open, and Eddie and Mr. Keene stepped out. Mr. Keene seemed unruffled, but Eddie... Eddie's eyes were wide and strangely vacant, mouth pressed in a small, thin line. He moved toward Richie with a strange heaviness, as though he were moving through water.  

Eddie wasn't carrying the prescription refill bag he usually had. 

"Eddie?" Richie asked, concerned.  

"I'm fine," Eddie said, voice flat and far away. "Let's go."  

*** 

Eddie felt like he wasn't quite all there as he and Richie biked home. Mr. Keene's words repeated in his head over and over until he felt like he might go mad.  

_She lied. She lied. She lied._  

He wanted to scream and shout, to demand answers for the falsehoods he'd been fed for years, but it was as though his mouth had been sewn shut, pierced by the sharp needle of his mother's words and sewn together with thread woven from the years of taking his medicine three times a day without fail, years of believing he had asthma, years of thinking he wasn't strong enough, wasn't healthy enough, _wasn't good enough_. 

"Eddie, what's wrong?" Richie asked, frowning. "What did Mr. Keene want?" 

_She lied. She lied. She lied._   

Eddie shook his head. If he tried to speak, he would throw up. He knew it. The autumn air whistled through his throat. Although he apparently didn't have asthma, his lungs seemed to disagree. They felt like they were shrinking beyond repair. Maybe he would never breathe again.  

When they got home, Eddie let his bike fall on the grass and ignored Richie's desperate pleas of "please talk to me," even though his heart wanted to burst. He couldn't talk. _He couldn't_. He hurried up the front steps and through the front door, Richie close on his heels.  

"Eddie Bear, did you pick up your medication?" 

Eddie looked up to see his mother standing at the foot of the stairs, her slightly sweaty, heavyset form looking as normal as could be, eyes inquisitive as she gazed at him. He stared at her, mouth opening and closing. But all that escaped was a sharp whine.  

Mrs. Kaspbrak's face fell. "Sweetie, what's the matter? Are you sick?" 

_"You are not sick."_  

She stepped toward him, hands fluttering nervously before her, the way they always did before she reached out and took his temperature, told him he was ill, and sent him to bed—like always. As her hand lifted to touch his forehead, Eddie stepped back, nearly running into Richie. 

"What's wrong?" Mrs. Kaspbrak asked, worry etched into the lines of her face. "You're acting strangely." She glanced at Richie, but his face must not have betrayed any answers because she quickly looked back at Eddie. "Tell me what's wrong, Eddie." 

_"_ _Whatever your mother may have told you,_ you are not sick _."_  

Eddie's knees shook, and he suddenly listed to the side, catching himself with a hand on the wall. He could hear his mother saying something, but he focused on forcing back the bile rising in his throat. It tasted horrid, though not as horrid as the realizations that had been forced on him. And by Mr. Keene no less, the father of one of the people who made his life a living hell at Derry High every fucking day. He trembled as he felt a hand gently rubbing his back. _Richie_. 

"Eddie, you are not well," Mrs. Kaspbrak said, voice stern. "I'm taking you to the doctor. Richard, take Eddie's backpack and—" 

"No!" Eddie shouted. His mother's words had acted like a fire-heated blade, searing through the string of lies wiring his jaw shut.  

Mrs. Kaspbrak stared at him with wide eyes. "Sweetie, you're not well—" 

"Stop!" Eddie pressed his hands over his ears. "Stop lying!"  

The horror of before had begun to shift, leaving Eddie feeling both strong and shaky at once, heat straightening his spine. Rage crashed like a million cymbals colliding over and over and over again inside him. His mother had stepped closer, and he could smell her heavy perfume. For the first time, the fragrance made him feel nauseated instead of safe.    

As his mother watched with confusion written all over her face, Eddie ripped open his fanny pack and dug out the remaining medication tucked inside, including the remnants of Doctor Oullette's white pills.  

"What are these, Ma? Why am I taking them?" Eddie asked, searching his mother's face. 

_Please tell me the truth. Please._  

Mrs. Kaspbrak froze, gazing at the pills before looking back up at Eddie. For a moment, her expression seemed caught between surprise and, strangely enough, fear. But then it morphed into a frightening resolve, her mauve-tinged lips tightening.  

"They help you, Eddie," she said, voice hard. 

"Help me?" he asked. "Help me?" He laughed—a quick, braying shout that had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with dismay. He held up the medication, clutched in both hands. "Do you know what these are?" 

Mrs. Kaspbrak's wide blue eyes said she knew exactly what they were, but she remained silent. 

Eddie felt his heart breaking.  

"They're placebos!" he shouted. " _They're_ _bullshit!_ " He threw the medication down at her feet, the pill bottles bursting open and spraying across the entryway, clattering in a cacophony of _lies_. Mrs. Kaspbrak gaped at the pills in horror.   

"What the hell is going on in here?" Wentoworth Tozier asked, alarmed as he came around the corner.  

_Of course. This is his early day._  

"They help you, Eddie," Mrs. Kaspbrak insisted, ignoring her husband.  

"Oh, they help me?" Eddie asked, shaking with the force of the anger running through him. He laughed again even as he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "They help me? Or they help you?" 

"What—" 

"You know, I haven't taken those pills Doctor Oullette gave me since last December," Eddie said. He didn't know why he was tempting fate like this. All he knew was that he wanted his mother to feel some small measure of the pain he was experiencing, of the knives that seemed to be tearing at everything he'd ever known, slicing and dicing until the picture left before him was some bizarre conglomeration of a life he thought he'd led but had never understood. 

Mrs. Kaspbrak grunted as thought she'd been hit. A sick burst of pleasure ran through Eddie when he heard it.  

"What are you going to tell me next?" she asked, chest heaving. "That you've been missing your appointments with Doctor Pelletier as well? That you've been lying this entire time?" 

Eddie gaped at her. "Are you serious? _You're_ the one who's been lying! _You're_ the one who can't accept me! I'm gay, Mom. I'm a fucking _queer_ —" 

"Eddie, stop—" his mother began. 

"Shut up!" he cried, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. She jerked back as though she'd been hit.  

 Richie and Mr. Tozier watched all of this in silence, mouths hanging open.  

"And that medication you put me on?" Eddie asked. "Do you even know what it was? It was a-a sexual s-suppressant! It gave me nose bleeds, made me throw up—" 

"What? Why didn't you tell me—" 

"Because you hate me!" he screamed. He fell silent, shaking so violently that Richie looked about ready to catch him if he finally collapsed.  

Tears had welled in Mrs. Kaspbrak's eyes. "No....no, I love you—" 

"You lied....you lied..." Eddie whispered, chest beginning to heave with sobs. 

"Eddie, I had to protect you," his mother said, seeming to steel herself. "I had to keep you safe." 

"Safe from what, Ma?" Eddie asked. "From that?" He pointed back toward the front door. "Or from this?" He then pointed to himself. "Because you can't stand the thought of me being different?" He felt as though a hole were opening up in his chest, ripping his heart out while he stood pinned to the ground like a butterfly to a collector's board.  

"You don't understand the world like I do," Mrs. Kaspbrak said, voice shaking. "Do you think the world is kind to queers, to _fags_? Do you think Derry, _most of all Derry_ , is kind to people who are different? Eddie, I want you to be happy, but more than that I want you to be safe. I never meant to hurt you. I want to protect you."  

Eddie shook his head, hugging himself.   

Mrs. Kaspbrak made to step forward, but Mr. Tozier's hand suddenly closed on her shoulder, pulling her back. She turned to stare at him. "Went, what—" 

"I think we all need some space right now," he said, eying everyone for a second, dark eyes sharp behind his glasses. His tall, thin form seemed especially forbidding in that moment, but when his eyes turned to Eddie, they were kind.  

"This is _my_ son I'm talking to," Mrs. Kaspbrak said shrilly, irate at having been interuppted. "You—" 

"No," Went interrupted. "Eddie may be your son by birth, but he's just as much my son now too." 

Mrs. Kaspbrak gaped at him as though she couldn't understand what he was saying. 

Mr. Tozier glanced back at Eddie—and Richie, who stood behind him. "Go up to your rooms, boys," he murmured. "We all need a few minutes to cool down."  

Eddie stared at Mr. Tozier. The man had never stopped in between him and his mother like this, not once. It was....nice. _It was nice._  

He felt Richie's hand close on his shoulder, turning him in the direction of the stairs. Eddie allowed himself to be led to the second floor, grateful for the arm that Richie had slung around his shoulders. He felt like he could collapse at any moment. Eddie was vaguely aware that his mother and Mr. Tozier were arguing fiercely behind him, but he suddenly felt too drained to even understand the words. 

"Come on," Richie murmured in his ear, pulling him in the direction of Richie's room.  

Although Richie's room was a horrible mess as usual—clothes strewn all over the floor, all manner of trash piled up, papers in a disarray across the desk—it was a familiar sight, a comforting one. Eddie was grateful not to have to see the empty pill bottles still sitting on his bedside table, something he had a feeling Richie had remembered. 

Richie closed the door behind them with a sigh as Eddie pulled off his backpack and sank down on the bed. He wiped at the tears still streaking down his cheeks. For some reason, the scent of cigarettes that seemed to follow Richie everywhere made him smile a little, even if it made his heart ache. 

Eddie sniffled a little as Richie sat down beside him. The sounds of their parents fighting carried up the stairs—stark, angry sounds against the peacefulness of Richie's room. Eddie found himself glancing around at the posters Richie had plastered on the walls—musicians, movies, comic characters. The selection was as eclectic as the boy beside him. The sight made Eddie feel a little warmer, even with the tempers playing out beneath them.  

"I'm sorry," he whispered. 

Richie glanced at him, surprised. "What? What are you sorry for?" 

Eddie waved at the floor. "It's my fault they're fighting..." 

Richie frowned. "It's not your fault that your mom fucking lied to you." 

"I know," Eddie said. His hands twisted into the bottom of his sweatshirt. "I just..." He sighed. "I hate this." 

"This isn't your fault, Eds," Richie said, eyes fierce. "This is your mom's problem, not yours. She fucking lied to you about everything. You're allowed to feel mad. I'd be fucking pissed!" He exhaled sharply through his nose. "This isn't your fault," he repeated.  

Eddie stared at Richie, at those deeply emotive eyes, made all the brighter by those silly coke-bottle glasses. At those soft, nearly black curls, laying in a haphazard style that was all Richie. Eddie found his gaze falling to Richie's thin, pink lips. He wondered if they were as soft as Richie's hair. 

His gaze jumped back up to Richie's eyes. He felt heat rising in his cheeks as the other boy looked back at him, eyebrows lifted and smiling in that sweet way. Eddie swallowed hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Richie seemed to notice, a soft hint of a blush coloring the pale skin behind the taller boy's freckles. 

"Thanks, Rich," Eddie murmured. He leaned closer, unable to stop himself. "I...I'm sorry I'm always such a problem..."  

"You're not a problem," Richie whispered. "Not to me." 

Eddie felt his heart give a jolt, a rope of electricity rising between them, the surge crackling higher as they both leaned a little closer. He could feel himself shaking as heat curled in his belly, everything pulling tight as his mouth dried.  

_Richie is your stepbrother. He is your STEPBROTHER._   

Eddie gasped a little as Richie inched forward. 

***  

Eddie's brown eyes seemed so wide, gazing up at Richie. Richie couldn't help but stare back. It was though a cable had been strung between them, every second spent looking at each other adding another cord to the tie between them until it felt like nothing could break it.  

Richie's heart still hurt fiercely from all he had heard downstairs. No wonder Eddie hadn't felt like talking when they'd left the drug store; his stepbrother's entire world had just been flipped. But the rage he felt toward Mrs. Kaspbrak paled in comparison to the concern he held for Eddie.

But in this moment, it seemed like all of that had floated away, leaving just him and Eddie sitting beside each other, gazing at each other as though they'd forgotten how to look away. 

Richie watched Eddie's tongue swipe against those plush, pink lips, and he felt his mouth go dry, a heavy want climbing inside him, singing at him to just _grab Eddie_ and _fucking kiss him already_.  

_He's my stepbrother. He's my stepbrother. He'll hate me. HE'LL HATE ME._  

But in a moment Richie would never forget, Eddie leaned closer, leaving only inches between them. He was close enough for Richie to see the flecks of gold swimming in his soft brown irises.   

"Thanks for being here for me," Eddie murmured.  

Richie felt the warmth of Eddie's exhaled breath as he spoke the words. Before Richie could begin to think anything else, Eddie suddenly darted forward and closed the space between them, lips slotting against his. 

*** 

It was...perfect. No matter how cliché it sounded, that's all Eddie could think as he pressed his lips against Richie's. Richie's mouth felt soft against his, fitting in a way Eddie never thought possible.  

Richie moaned a little, coming closer, lips pressing harder even as his hand came around the back of Eddie's neck, steadying them both.   

Eddie lifted his arms to wrap around Richie's waist, wanting him nearer. 

But like a trickle of water that slowly but surely eats away at a crack in a rock, Eddie suddenly began to realize what he was doing. And _who_ he was kissing. 

And with that, the rock burst. 

Eddie jerked backwards with a sharp gasp, eyes flying open to see Richie staring at him, lips pink.  

"N-no...no, no, no..." Eddie's voice started as a whisper but quickly rose in volume as the panic began to set in. 

Richie tried to reach for him, but Eddie stumbled up off the bed, away from Richie's reaching hand.  

"Oh my god," he whimpered. 

"Eddie—" Richie started. 

"No!" Eddie felt like screaming. 

_What have I done?_  

Ignoring Richie's shouts, Eddie grabbed his bag and _ran_ , tearing into his room and locking the door before Richie could follow. He heard Richie yelling his name, but he ignored it, throwing himself down on his bed and covering his ears. He wished he could sink through the floor, down somewhere where no one would ever find him—not his lying mother and not his stepbrother, who would never be able to look at the disgusting freak that was Eddie Kaspbrak ever again.  

Richie had kissed him back...but surely it had been because Richie felt sorry for him. As usual. Why would someone as perfect as Richie Tozier—stupid, loudmouth, moronic, beautiful Richie Tozier—ever look at someone like him? 

Eddie felt himself crying, curling into a ball around himself. He didn't know how he would ever stop. His tears felt like blood from a wound—one that could never be healed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reddieinthestars.tumblr.com


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